


Song for the Broken Boy

by severaance



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Rape Recovery, a really heavy fic with many not so happy moments, graphic depictions of past child sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-06-06 13:35:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 25
Words: 53,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6756310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severaance/pseuds/severaance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He thought he was over it. He thought it would stop hurting after Buford died. Derek had taken back the control Buford had over him yet there he was, still marring his life from beyond the grave."</p><p>A case that falls into the lap of Spencer Reid has Derek Morgan questioning everything he's come to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys. so, this fic is a lot less upbeat and hopeful than some of my other ones. the entire plot revolves around derek's trauma. because of this, there are very explicit depictions of his csa. id like to say that since this is very graphic, i do not condone the fetishization or sexualization of the abuse depicted in this work. if you're looking for some kind of kink exploration, this isn't for you, and id appreciate it if you didn't leave comments pertaining to this. also, im not entirely sure if this will have a happy (ish) ending, and there's not going to be any - or at the very least, minimal - fluff. i also hope you can understand how grueling this is to write because of its explicit nature. there might be some lulls in posting because of this. in short, i hope you can enjoy this and it can act as an eye opener to the depths of trauma and still remain cautious. comments are highly appreciated!

Spencer Reid was a technophobe, that much was true. However, being in the FBI meant at least having some semblance of knowledge of technology. It was almost primarily how they communicated with one another after all. So, he knew the basics - check his email, compose one, although impossibly slow, send a text, etcetera. That didn't mean he understood some of the more 'complex' elements of the Internet, such as the infamous 'spam email'. 

Spencer didn't bother with having a personal email account. All the people he knew were from work, anyways. He sat at the small, cluttered desk in his bedroom and logged into his work account, scrolling through some of the case files and virtual paperwork sent from his team and the higher ups in the bureau. When he saw nothing prudent, he went to close his laptop, but something caught his eye. There was a glaringly red '1' next to his spam inbox. Curiously, he clicked on it and up popped an email from an unknown sender, subject line, "D.M." He narrowed his eyes at it but clicked on it nonetheless. Inside was simply a cryptic looking link. He opened it up, ignoring his instincts. It took a while for the page to load, but when it did, Spencer's stomach dropped and he immediately felt nauseous. 

On his screen were dozens upon dozens of videos, all featuring thumbnails of a boy no older than thirteen in various stages of undress in each of them. With him was a dark, ominous figure hard to make out in the blurry thumbnail. The videos were of static-like quality, shot from a birds eye point of view. There was something obscuring the camera just slightly, indicating the camera they were shot with was most likely concealed so the subject wouldn't be able to see it. Spencer felt bile rise in his throat and he was just about to snap the laptop close and push it as far away from himself as possible when realization dawned on him. The boy in the videos, he was a young, black boy, wearing eighties style clothing. The man with him was black as well, and if Spencer looked close enough he could see a grin he knew all too well. 

He knew he shouldn't. He couldn't. It was wrong, it was awful. But his finger danced along the mouse and soon enough he was clicking the 'play' button on the first video on the site, entitled, "D.M First Time'. At first, all he saw was the boy sitting by himself, relaxed and spread out while watching television, with no sound except static and the quaint murmur of voices on the television. Then, from what Spencer assumed was the kitchen because of the dim, orange lighting, emerged a figure who plopped down on the couch next to the boy. He handed him a bottle of beer and gave him a wink, elbowing him in the side playfully. The boy laughed quietly, barely audible over the static and took a sip from the bottle. The way the man was looking at him, like a piece of meat, made Spencer's stomach twist into knots. The boy made a face and shook his head, but the man urged him on, nursing his own bottle encouragingly. They sat there, sipping from their bottles sporadically, until the man scooted closer to the boy and cleared his throat. 

"You went down pretty hard the other day. Your leg still botherin' you, son?" He asked, putting his hand on the boy's knee. The boy frowned slightly and nodded at that. The man said, "Here, let me rub it for you. Can't have my star player limpin' around on the field." He slid his hand underneath boy's leg, massaging just underneath his knee. The boy snorted quietly and jerked, grinning at the man. "Dude, that tickles." He said with a giggle. The man laughed softly at that, but there was nothing genuine to it. 

"I can make it feel good if you just let me." He told the boy, licking his lips hungrily. The boy looked at him with a dubious smile but nodded nonetheless. The mad reached over with his other hand to spread open the boy's legs slightly, the hand massaging underneath his knee sliding up to knead his inner thigh. 

"That feel nice?" He asked huskily, his finger's moving deftly against the boy's pant leg. The young boy nodded slowly, his eyebrows pulled together in confusion. 

"Yeah, but.. That's not where I fell." He said quietly, garnering another laugh from the man. 

"Don't worry, when I'm done, it'll all feel better." He gave the boy a wink as he inched his hand up higher, finger brushing over his groin. The boy gasped slightly and squirmed, looking at him with wide, confused eyes. 

"Anyone ever touch you here, D?" The man asked, now cupping the boy at the front of his pants. He leaned into the touch subtly, looking at the man blankly before he shook his head. The man seemed to like that, if his grin was any indication. 

"You touch yourself here?" He continued to question, palming the boy slowly for emphasis. Blushing, the boy looked down and nodded his head. Another dark laugh filled Spencer's speakers. 

"You think about pretty girls when you do that?" He inquired, not giving the boy a chance to answer before he continued. "Think about touching them? Or them touching you? I promise, I can make you feel better than they ever can." He was practically whispering at that point, leaning in to press his mouth against the boy's pulse point as he slid his hands inside his pants. 

"Filling out nicely." He commented, his hand moving up and down inside the boy's jeans, and Spencer gagged, feeling his eyes fill with tears as his vision grew blurry. The boy was whining, canting his hips up into the touch reluctantly, his head thrown over the back of the couch. 

"That's it, Der. That's it. Just feel it, son." The man encouraged, his hand moving faster, the sound of the friction drowned out by the loud beat of Spencer's heart in his ears. He couldn't move, couldn't blink. He felt disgusting watching, like he was just as bad as Buford, but he couldn't abandon Derek. Watching, it was like being there, being there for him, saving him. He couldn't leave him, not when so many people had hurt Derek already. 

When the boy reached climax, Spencer screwed his eyes shut and turned his head away, holding his hands over his ears as the boy's guttural moan, combined with a whimper, filled the room. As Spencer lowered his hands and slowly turned back to the screen, he heard the man curse, then the quiet sound of a belt buckle jingling and a zipper being pulled down. He shoved down his pants and underwear, roughly grabbing the boy's hand and wrapping it around his erection, directing his hand with his own. He finished within seconds, grunting and spilling over the boy's small hand that barely fit around his wide girth. As the man slowly caught his breath, he wiped his and the boy's hand off on the couch, turning to the young boy and smiling lazily. 

"That felt good, huh?" He said lowly, looking down at the wet spot in the boy's pants. When he blushed and looked away, the man took his face in his hands and turned his head back to face him. 

"Hey. Don't be embarrassed. 'S perfectly normal." He reassured the boy, rubbing his thumb along his lower lip. "I'll keep it a secret if you do." He added in a gravelly whisper. The boy looked at him, fear and apprehension in his eyes, before he nodded slowly and gave the man a shaky, broken smile. 

"Good boy." The man commented, clapping the boy on the shoulder as he stood and rubbed his hands together. "Now, how 'bout you go take a shower and put on some clean clothes, then we can go to bed, hm?" He suggested with a grin. Slowly, the boy rose to his feet and nodded, brushing past the man as he headed to the bathroom. The man approached the camera, and as he bent down to switch it off, Spencer let out an angry sob as he saw the proud, blissful expression on his face. 

He forcefully shut the laptop and scurried back onto his bed, pulling his knees to his chest like a frightened child. His eyes widened as he dry heaved, surging forward to grab the waste bin by his bed. He emptied the contents of his stomach, not sure if the tears running down his face were from the force of his retching or from the anger and despair that rose inside of him. 

He sat there on his bed for a while, hunched over the waste bin, until he wiped at his mouth and reached for his cell phone. His hands shook violently as he punched in the numbers, having to redo it several times before he hit call. 

"Hotchner." Spencer heard the voice in the other line say. He stayed silent for a few moments, listening as his superior rustled around in confusion. "Reid?" His authoritative voice questioned. Spencer cleared his throat, taking a few steadying breaths before he spoke. 

"I may have a case for us."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Stab the body and it heals, but injure the heart and the wound lasts a lifetime." Mineko Iwasaki

When Derek walked into the BAU that morning, he immediately knew the day was going to be hard. His favorite little blonde firecracker was looking at him with sad, shiny eyes, and Derek knew that could only mean one thing; not many things could make the colorful woman look so crestfallen.

"That bad, huh?" He asked as he approached her, slinging an arm over her shoulder. She looked down at the ground, then back up at her friend, her mouth hanging open as she tried to make the words come out but to no avail.

"Hey. Talk to me." Derek said with a frown, pulling back and placing one hand on her shoulder and another on her cheek.

She sniffled as she looked at him, beginning to say, "Derek, I-" before she was interrupted by Hotch's loud, authoritative voice.

"Morgan, can I see you in my office?" He requested, rather than demanded.

Derek looked at him curiously but nodded regardless, giving a squeeze to Penelope's shoulder and telling her, "We'll talk later." He didn't miss the whimper she emitted as she gave him a nod. He narrowed his eyes at her before he turned his back, striding over to Hotch's office. When he entered through the doorway, he was met with the face of a certain residential genius. He smiled at the younger agent before his face fell as he saw the sad, broken expression Spencer was donning. Hotch was looking at him with caution, and Derek immediately felt uneasy.

"What? What is it?" He asked apprehensively. Hotch pressed his lips together and gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk. Derek wordlessly took a seat next to where Spencer was sitting nervously, his fingers twitching.

"This isn't easy to say." Hotch began before he let out an exasperated sigh.

"Derek, we need to discuss information pertaining to the Carl Buford case." He told Derek formally. Derek clenched his jaw as he swallowed thickly, trying to maintain eye contact with Hotch as to not raise any concern.

"What's there to discuss? He's dead. Unless the bureau is seriously interested in his murder case. Which, if that's what this is, I want no part of it." He said stoically, trying not to let his anger get the best of him. The men who killed Buford deserved medals, not an investigation.

"We're not here to talk about that. We're here to talk about you." Hotch said, eyes darting over to Spencer before he looked back at Derek.

"Derek, did Carl Buford ever film you?" He asked bluntly - there was no use tiptoeing around the subject.

"What?" Derek asked, his whole body tensing as his heart skipped a beat.

"To your knowledge, did Buford ever film you or take photographs of you while he was molesting you?" Hotch pressed on, causing Derek to shoot up to his feet with a growl.

"You think I would've let him do that? Huh? You think that lowly of me?" He hissed. "No. I would've never given him that kind of satisfaction and I can't believe you'd even ask me that." He turned to leave, but Spencer's timid voice stopped him as he said softly, "Derek, don't."

"What is this about? Why are you doing this?" Derek asked, refusing to shake away the cloud of denial obscuring his thought process.

"We found a webpage. A child pornography site, with hundreds of videos and photos. You're in every one of them." Hotch said gently. Derek shook his head vehemently, looking between the two agents.

"No. No, he never- No. That never happened." He insisted. He wasn't sure who he was trying to convince at that point. His vision was growing blurry, the sounds around him coming out as white noise.

"Wait, you- You said 'we'," He asked with an edge to his voice, "Who is 'we'?" He looked between Hotch and Spencer, feeling his palms beginning to sweat.

"You-" He started, eyes focusing on Spencer. "You saw. You both saw." He said through clenched teeth. "How?" He asked firmly. Hotch opened his mouth, but Derek silenced him as he said, louder this time, "How did you find them?" When he heard Spencer's breath hitch, it felt like a punch in the gut.

"Someone sent me a link to the site. We're having Garcia run the IP address but it's been rerouted to several proxy servers. We have no idea wh-" Spencer began to say, recoiling as Derek smacked his hand down on Hotch's desk.

"And you opened it? You opened a link to a child pornography website? And watched videos of me being- You watched it. You-" Derek was blinded by rage and tears, his breathing ragged as his heart beat so loud he was sure the other agents could hear it thumping in his chest.

"It wasn't my intention to-" Once again, Derek didn't let Spencer finish. He spun around to face him, leaning over the chair the younger agent was in to grab him by the shirt collar.

"Your intention? It wasn't your fucking intention? What went through your brain when opened those videos, huh? Did it satisfy your curiosity, _Spencer_?" Derek spat, Spencer's name tasting acidic on his tongue. Hotch seized him by the shoulder when Derek didn't release the younger agent, but Derek jerked away from his touch.

"Don't you dare put your hands on me." He told the other man, releasing Spencer before stepping into Hotch's space in an attempt to size him up. Hotch stared him down, challenging him, but Derek just pulled away before storming out of the office. He slammed the door shut so hard behind himself that the agents scattered around the bullpen all jumped and fell silent as they stared at him. He could feel their eyes burning through him, like they were able to see exactly who he was, what he was, and what he had done. He felt sickened with himself, shame thrumming throughout his entire body. He shoved past several bewildered agents as he rushed to the men's room where he immediately collapsed down on the floor.

He was in a tunnel. Nothing felt real, nothing he saw, nothing he heard. He couldn't even hear his own ragged breathing or his rapid heartbeat anymore. All he felt was hands all over him, lips on his neck, heavy breathing in his ear. He felt violated all over again. The most intimate places of his body were on display for the whole world to see, for people everywhere to lust over. He was being objectified, scrutinized, and dehumanized as each second passed. Derek wondered just how many people had saw him during the worst moments of his life. How long had those videos been up, who had seen them, and how had they reacted? Did anyone feel pity for him? Did anyone try to save him? Or was he just someone's little fantasy? That's what he was reduced to. He was just some pervert's wet dream come true. He was a scared little boy who had relinquished all control all over again.

He thought he was over it. He thought it would stop hurting after Buford died. Derek had taken back the control Buford had over him yet there he was, still marring his life from beyond the grave. He was immortalized in those videos. He'd never die, and Derek would never forget, because they would always be there, out for anybody to see. Even if they were deleted, even if the people who watched them were thrown in jail for the rest of their lives, they still had taken a piece of Derek down with them.

And the betrayal. The betrayal was the worst part. Knowing Reid - Spencer - his best friend had seen him so helpless and vulnerable, that's what crushed Derek. Spencer had sat and watched Derek live through the most painful moments of his life. How much had the younger agent saw? How many videos did he watch? What parts of Derek had he seen that he'd never be able to forget? Derek was disgusted with himself and overcome with shame and guilt. The voices in his head screaming that it was his fault were much louder than the logical one whispering that he was the victim. He didn't want to believe either. He didn't want to realize maybe he could've done something to stop it, that all it would've taken was a simple 'no', but he never wanted to think of himself as a victim, because a victim was helpless. A victim was prey. A victim was weak and vulnerable and he would never, ever let himself be those things. He wouldn't be Buford's victim. He couldn't. But he couldn't be a survivor, either, because this, having a panic attack on a dirty men's room floor, was anything but surviving.

The tears never came. He wanted to be able to feel sorry for himself, to mourn the loss of his innocence, but he couldn't. He was too angry with himself to feel any sympathy. No, he didn't deserve tears. The rage, the shame, the disgust, he deserved that. He had put himself in a dangerous situation and was exploited, only to have those traumatic memories captured on film and shared with the world. Over and over again, like a mantra, his mind screamed at him, 'serves you right', 'it's your fault', 'you could've stopped this', and he couldn't get those voices out of his head. They were all he could hear, all he could focus on. That is, until he heard the door of the restroom swing open. He jumped to his feet so fast at the sound that he almost fell face first on the porcelain countertops, dizzy and delirious. He looked to the door to see Rossi standing there, mouth slightly agape before he told Derek, "Hotch wants us at the round table pronto."

Derek's world caved in around him once again, his already erratic breathing speeding up. The rest of the team, his friends, his family, they were all soon going to know exactly what kind of man he was, what he had let happen to him. He nearly vomited into the sink at the thought of walking into the room with several pairs of disgusted or pitiful eyes on the faces of the people he loved the most. Would they have to watch? Would they see exactly what Derek had tried to hide since he was eleven years old? His mind immediately snapped to Penelope and he let out a low whine. She had to have seen. She had to. Reid said she had run the IP address of the sender. She must've been on the site to track down some of the viewers as well. That's what was in her eyes. Not sadness or sympathy for a victim butchered by an UNSUB - no, it was pity, disgust, anger, all directed at Derek.

Robotically, Derek turned to Rossi and gave him a sharp nod, ignoring the look on the older man's face as he saw how disheveled and pale Derek looked. He pushed past Rossi and silently made his way to the round table room, avoiding eye contact with Hotch and Reid like his life depended on it. He took the seat closest to the wall to try and hide himself, make himself smaller. The rest of the team had already poured in, staring at Hotch and Garcia expectantly.

"There's- We, um- We have a case." Garcia stuttered out, her eyes transfixed on Derek. He heard the teariness in her voice and tried his hardest not to break down. He jumped a bit too high when Hotch cleared his throat, his strong, commandeering voice filling the room.

"Something has come to my attention and I need everyone to listen carefully." He started with. Everyone in the room seemed to fidget nervously, each trying to conceal their worry. "The bureau has discovered a child pornography website, and we believe the person running it is targeting the BAU specifically. A link to the site was sent to Reid this morning."

JJ was the first to speak, a sad and distraught look on her face. "As horrible as this is, isn't this the CAC's territory?" She questioned. Hotch paused for a moment before looking to Reid, who coughed and attempted to straighten his posture.

"The BAU's interest in this case is because it correlates with a similar one we dealt with recently." Spencer explained vaguely. When everyone at the table continued to stare at him in hopes of hearing him extrapolate, he sighed heavily and chewed down hard on his lower lip.

"The contents of the site led us to believe that this is related to Carl Buford." And just like that, all eyes were on Derek. He tried not to shift under their stares, desperately holding on to the littlest bit of self-control he had left. He remained stoic and silent, waiting for his colleagues to continue.

"What was on the site?" Blake asked skeptically. The team watched as Reid and Hotch struggled to search for an appropriate answer before Derek finally spoke.

"Me." He said simply in a low, emotionless tone. He heard the collective gasps of his teammates, and Garcia's choked sob in the background as she raised the remote that controlled the slideshow presented on the screen. She whimpered as she clicked a button, and Derek didn't have to even look up to know what was on the screen. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Garcia promptly turn away to avert her eyes, as well as JJ's hand coming up to cover her mouth. He tried to go anywhere that wasn't that room, floating away from all the intense, pitiful gazes, away from the images being presented.

"A-As you can see there are- there are, um- I'm- I'm sorry, I can't do this." Garcia said, thrusting the remote into Hotch's hand as she pushed past her teammates and retreated back to her safe space. Derek didn't react when the door slammed behind her. Hotch inhaled sharply, gripping the remote tightly in his hand.

"There are over one hundred videos on the site, all encrypted and virtually impossible to trace. However, we're having Garcia run the IP addresses on some of the sharers and commenters." Derek's head snapped up at that, his blurry vision suddenly coming into focus on the screen before him. It took him a moment to form words out of the letters swimming around on the screen, but when he did, he was hit with an impossibly strong wave of nausea.

_"What a nervous little bird he is. So squirmy, but very sexy."_

_"I'd give anything to taste him."_

_"Very nice. A little too old for me, but still cute."_

_"Such a good little boy for his daddy."_

_"I love the fear in his eyes."_

Derek dry heaved as he comprehended the words, having to cover his mouth to keep himself from emptying his stomach all over the table.

"How many hits are we looking at per video?" Rossi questioned in a level tone, trying not to let his eyes slide over to Derek, who had his hands balled into impossibly tight fists on the table. Hotch paused and Derek focused on the sharp pain in his palms as his blunt nails dug into the skin.

"Upwards of a thousand." He said concisely. Rossi winced at that, and JJ slammed her hand down on the table, causing everyone to jump and turn to look at her.

"This is complete bullshit! Can't we have Garcia shut this down?" She cried out with a low, protective growl that made Derek's stomach churn. He wasn't some child she had to protect. He wasn't a family member of a victim needing consolation. He was her teammate, her friend, her equal, not someone who she had to mother.

"She's having difficulty infiltrating the site. Whoever's behind it is good. Better than she may be." Hotch confessed before his cold, professional tone took on a more gentle and encouraging one. "But there are seven of the best minds in the bureau sitting in this room, and I have no doubt that we can find whoever's doing this and nail their ass to the wall." His eyes were staring Derek down as he spoke, the younger agent stiffening at his words. He looked up to his superior with just a subtle gleam of hope in his eyes before he built his wall back up and returned to his stoic, emotionless demeanor. Hotch gave Derek a silent nod before turning back to the rest of the team, his lips pursed.

"I've attached all the information we have in an email sent to all of you, along with the link to the site. We have nothing but this site to build a profile on." He said quietly, nails digging into his thigh. Everyone remained still in a long, pregnant silence, until the tension in the air began to make Derek feel suffocated. He made his way out of the room as quickly as possible, heading straight for the break room. His hands shook violently as he poured himself a cup of coffee, most of the scorching hot liquid spilling over the rim of the cheap styrofoam cup and onto his skin. He barely even winced at the pain. Instead, he relished in it. He downed what was left of the coffee, yearning for something stronger and numbing as he crushed the cup in his hand effortlessly. He gripped the broken pieces even tighter as he heard footsteps approach, clenching his jaw when he saw a familiar, lanky figure come into view. Spencer was silent for quite some time, simply staring at Derek who was growing more unnerved by the second.

"Say it already." He growled out through his teeth, puffing out his chest as he stared Spencer down.

"I- What is it that you think I want to say?" He asked hesitantly. Derek barked out a cold, sinister laugh, shaking his head at Spencer.

"You want to tell me how sorry you are. How unfair this is. Tell me it's not my fault, tell me I'm 'strong'. Explain why you-" Derek began, shaking his head at Spencer before he discarded to remanence of his obliterated cup. "Forget it." He grumbled, trying to push past Spencer.

"Morgan, please." Spencer begged feebly, but Derek simply shoved him out of his way and snarled, "Don't talk to me." before exiting the break room, leaving a distraught and tearful Spencer in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The worst pain in the world goes beyond the physical. Even further beyond any other emotional pain one can feel. It is the betrayal of a friend." Heather Brewer


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I did not know how to reach him, how to catch up with him... The land of tears is so mysterious." Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for further graphic depictions of child sexual abuse

Spencer couldn't watch any more. Every whimper, every look of terror, every inch of Derek's body, they were all embedded in his brain and he'd never, ever be able to forget. He felt sickened with himself, and that was an understatement. He hated himself for this. He hated himself for betraying his friend. He had destroyed a relationship he never wanted to lose. Friendship was far and few between for Spencer. He had his team, and that was it. But Derek - Derek was special. He was the one person Spencer truly confided in. Talking to him came easily and naturally. It never felt forced, and he never felt pitied or put down when he talked to Derek. They had a bond, an impossibly close rapport. And Spencer catastrophically fucked it up beyond repair.

He paused the video for the fourth time in the past ten minutes to grab the half empty bottle of bourbon he had on his desk. He didn't consider himself a drinker, but now was as good a time as any to start. With every drop, the guilt became just a tad bit lighter. After he took several more gulps, not even wincing at the burn as the liquid slid down his throat, he clicked play on the video once again.

It had started off the same as the first. Carl and Derek were drinking jovially, but Derek still had that haunted look in his eyes. The only thing that was different was the background noise. Carl had switched on the TV, and abruptly music and cheap moans from feigned pleasure entered the room. Derek was visibly flustered, but all Carl did was smile at him.

"Think she's pretty?" He asked idly as he took another sip from the bottle. Derek stuttered, then shrugged helplessly as his eyes darted back and forth between the man and the TV.

"What about the guy? You think he's handsome?" Carl continued to press. Derek swallowed around a lump in his throat and looked down at his lap as he choked out, "I guess." Carl seemed to like that, as he had slung his arm around Derek's shoulders at his words. When Derek stiffened under the touch, Spencer reached for the bottle once again.

"I think you're a lot more handsome than he is. Nicer body. You been working out, huh?" Carl squeezed Derek's small yet firm bicep, grinning as he felt the hard muscle beneath his skin. "Yeah, you have. You look real good. Look amazing in that uniform." He complimented in a sinister, smoky voice, and Spencer wasn't sure if the nausea he felt was from the alcohol or the look on Carl's face.

"Your best feature is this mouth, though." He continued huskily, reaching forward to rub his thumb over Derek's trembling lip. "See how she gets on her knees for him?" Carl jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the screen, and Spencer could hear gagging and moaning coming from the TV. "I bet you'd look so much better than she would. You've got such pretty lips."

Derek was blushing head to toe, bouncing his leg nervously until Carl slid his hand down his thigh, holding Derek's knee still as he said, "Don't be nervous. I'm sure you'll do great. Why don't you give it a try?" He was rubbing Derek's thigh in encouragement, and when Spencer saw Derek's whole body shake as he dropped to his knees, he had to bite down on his tongue to keep from screaming.

Derek was looking up at Carl, no doubt with eyes filled with trepidation and embarrassment, while Carl, on the other hand, was simply grinning down at the helpless boy as he ran his fingers through Derek's curly top. Spencer averted his eyes the moment he heard the telltale sounds of a belt buckle being undone and a zipper being pulled down. He faced the adjacent wall and took another large gulp from the bottle. When he redirected his gaze to the screen, Derek already had his face in Carl's lap, leaving little to the imagination as to what he was doing. There was no semblance of tenderness as Carl roughly gripped Derek's hair and forced him down further. Spencer polished off the rest of the bottle the moment Derek began to gag, his retching drowned out by Carl's panting and moaning. He was just about to close the site for the night and head to the shower where he could try to scrub himself clean of the images in his brain when he heard it.

Carl threw his head back, holding Derek's in place in his lap as he let out a long groan and moaned, "Dariu- _Derek_." Spencer almost missed the slip up, having to rewind the video and suffer through the scene all over again just to make sure. Against his better judgement, he sprung up to his feet and slid into a pair of shoes, not bothering to bring a jacket as he raced to the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Who can tell what metals the gods use in forging the subtle bond which we call sympathy, which we might as well call love." Kate Chopin


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Friendship plants itself as a small unobtrusive seed; over time, it grows thick roots that wrap around your heart. When a love affair ends, the tree is torn out quickly, the operation painful but clean. Friendship withers quietly, there is always hope of revival. Only after time has passed do you recognise that it is dead, and you are left, for years afterwards, pulling dry brown fibres from your chest." Anna Lyndsey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another shorter chapter, but the upcoming ones will be much longer!

The last thing Derek thought he'd see that night at 2:30 in the morning was Spencer Reid's pleading face as he adamantly pounded on Derek's door. But there he was, looking as disheveled as ever and staring helplessly at Derek, his lower lip between his teeth.

"I told you to leave me alone." Derek grumbled, ready to slam the door shut right in the younger man's face when he wiggled his way inside of Derek's house.

"It's important." Spencer said, though Derek didn't seem convinced. He crossed his arms over one another, staring at Spencer expectantly.

"Well? Out with it." Derek told him coldly, not missing the flinch that wracked Spencer's body at the tone of Derek's voice. He almost felt bad. Almost.

"I noticed a pattern. Carl never calls you 'Derek'. Not once. It's always 'D' or 'Der'." Spencer started, heading towards Derek couch, and Derek fought the urge to just throw him out of his house. With his hands balled into fists at his sides, Derek took a seat on the love seat adjacent to where Spencer was sat.

"So? Those were his nicknames for me." He told Spencer indifferently. He feigned eye contact with the younger agent, though they both knew Derek was staring at his forehead.

"No. It was a coverup." Spencer said vaguely and Derek looked to him for clarification. "I thought it was his way of... Dehumanizing you. Dissociating himself from what he was doing. But it's not. I barely noticed it, but he started to say someone else's name when he was-" He didn't let himself finish the sentence, shaking his head to dislodge the thought before he asked, "Who else on your team had a name starting with 'D'?"

Derek's face remained stoic, but something flashed in his eyes that Spencer was sure he would've missed if he had blinked. He looked down to the ground, letting out an exasperated sigh as he said, "I don't know, man. I- We had a Donovan. A Damien. Dante, I think one kid was called. DeMarcus." He gave Spencer a simple shrug before looking off in the other direction. "'Was a long time ago." He mumbled idly. Spencer looked at Derek with those big brown eyes filled to the brink with sadness and Derek would have hit himself for causing that look if he didn't feel so utterly betrayed.

"Were there any other boys Carl was close to? Someone not on the team?" Spencer continued to press, but Derek shot to his feet and began pacing the room.

"I don't fucking know, Spencer, okay? I don't know. I didn't ask the man questions about his personal life while he was fucking me." Derek spat bitterly. When his speech came out slurred and he stumbled slightly as he paced the living room floor, Spencer narrowed his eyes at him.

"Are you drunk?" He asked, although he already knew the answer. Derek barked out a humorless laugh and reached for a glass on one of the end tables, tilting his head back as he downed the rest of the amber liquid.

"Are _you_? I see those bloodshot eyes, Doctor. No need to turn your nose up at me." He said with another bitter chuckle before he fell back down on the couch. Spencer frowned, but still remained silent. For a long while, he simply stared at Derek, opening his mouth several times to speak but the words never came out. When they did, though, Derek felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

"I'm sorry." Spencer said in a tearful, genuine, heart wrenching tone that made Derek's hands shake. He shook his head at Spencer several times before meeting his gaze.

"Sorry doesn't fucking cut it." He bit out, though his voice was laced with sadness and not anger. He wanted to be mad, but the rage never crashed over him. All he could feel was guilt, shame, and betrayal. With every second that passed by Derek's heart continued to crack into pieces, and he was waiting for the moment when the whole thing simply fell apart.

"I know. But, I am. I'm so, so sorry." Spencer restated adamantly. "I didn't mean for this to happen. Any of it." He said quietly, the tears welling in his eyes evident in his broken tone. Derek forced himself to look up at his friend, his bottom lip quivering as he took in Spencer's face, wrought with despair and regret. For a split second, he looked at Spencer almost apologetically before he cleared his throat and stood.

"You should go. It's late." Derek said in a monotone voice. Spencer looked at him with that utterly hopeless expression once more as he rose to his feet as well, approaching the door before he paused and said hesitantly, "Goodnight, Derek."

Derek didn't say a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "For there to be betrayal, there would have to have been trust first." Suzanne Collins


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the pieces slowly begin to come together! more to come..

Work was hell for Derek, but that was a given. Despite his teammates' façade of professionalism, Derek could still see their pity and indignation behind the cracks. He was currently sitting in Garcia's lair with her, helping her narrow down her search on the infamous boy Carl had almost mentioned. There were way too many names with not nearly enough parameters. She continued to pour over the information, searching through the names with a fine tooth comb until she sighed and placed her face in her hands.

"This is hopeless." She mumbled, and normally Derek would've smiled. Normally he would've teased her. Normally he'd be laughing with her, showing her affection, and trading sacred pet names. But none of this was normal, and not even his personal ray of sunshine could make it all better.

"No, it's not. We're just not thinking hard enough." Derek said determinedly. "If Car- if Buford was fantasizing about another boy when he was.. With me, then it's obvious I was a surrogate. Maybe we all were." Derek's voice drifted into a murmur before he shook his head. "That narrows it down. Black or mixed race boys, ages ten to seventeen, possibly younger. Athletic types, most likely from a low income family." He rattled off, letting himself grin faintly when he heard Garcia type rapidly.

"That's good, but we've still got more to go." She said with a sigh, looking to Derek with hopeful eyes. He nodded slowly, staring at the screen absently.

"Try searching for tragedies in their lives. Loss of a family member, probably a father, grandfather, an uncle - any prominent male figure." Derek said in a blank tone, still staring, though his eyes were unfocused.

"I've got five names." Garcia said triumphantly. Derek blinked several times, skimming over the names when something in his brain clicked.

"Does that say Darius J. Parker?" He asked as he leaned closer to the screen, sitting up a bit in his chair. Garcia looked at him strangely before she nodded.

"Darius James Parker, currently 39 years old, lives in Chicago, lost his mother when he was nine, raised by a single absentee dad-" She began, only to realize Derek had completely tuned her out, rushing to his feet and taking off down the hallway, yelling, "Send me that file!"

 

* * *

 

Derek rushed into the round table room as quickly as possible, the heavy sound of his boots breaking the stiff silence in the room. He wordlessly threw down the files he had printed just moments earlier, his breathing heavy, though he wasn't sure if it was from the anxiety coursing through his veins or from his quick jog to the room. Each member of his team looked up at him curiously, hesitantly opening up the files.

"What is this?" Rossi asked skeptically, eyes roaming over the words.

"Our first break." Derek replied simply as he opened his own file. "Darius James Parker - born James Darius Buford."

Some looked to Derek with wide eyes, while others stared at him apprehensively, waiting for some sort of explanation.

"Buford had a brother, a half-brother, Kendrick. Same mother, different fathers. He didn't talk about him a lot, but when he did, he always mentioned his nephew. He always called him James, that's why I didn't think of it when Spen- when Reid brought it up." He recalled, not letting his eyes drift over to Spencer the whole time he spoke.

"We never found a Kendrick Buford during our investigation of Carl." Hotch said, idly reading over the information.

"Because Kendrick Buford doesn't exist." Derek said concisely, earning several confused glances. "His mother never filled out a birth certificate. On paper, he's just a ghost. He changed his and his son's last names to Parker after he broke ties with Buford."

Blake was chewing on her lip as she watched Derek with such intent and suspicion that it made his skin crawl. Looking around the room, he saw everyone had that same wary look in their eyes.

"Stop looking at me." He said in a hissed out whisper. Some of the team seemed to be ashamed of themselves for staring, while others continued to look with palpable concern.

"Morgan's right. If Buford had a brother, then he must know something that could help us rebuild a profile to figure out who this partner is." Hotch said abruptly as he stood up, closing his file and holding it at his side. "We're heading to Chicago. When we get settled, Morgan, I want you to go with Reid to see if Darius knows anything about his uncle that might be useful. JJ and Rossi can head over to Kendrick Buford's home to question him as well. The rest of us will stay here and continue to build a profile." The words hung heavy in the air, the orders obviously not up for discussion. Derek felt Spencer's eyes all over him and it made his skin crawl, like there was something deep underneath it desperately trying to break through. He shook his head several times to clear his thoughts, then took a deep breath. He can do this. He can.

He turned on his heels and was met with those same brown eyes, downtrodden and hopeless, so full of intent that Derek felt them staring into his very core.

He can't do this.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for further graphic depiction of child sexual abuse as well as self harm

The plane ride was tense but rather uneventful. No one attempted to even speak a word to Derek, and he wasn't sure if he was grateful for or thoroughly pissed about that. He didn't want to feel like a rubber band wound too tight, a vase with one too many cracks in it. He wanted to be a teammate, a friend, a confidante, not a fragile eggshell. Still, he relished in the sound of his music that drowned out any and all chatter about him or surrounding him, allowing him to float away to some newly fabricated safe space; the others had already been corrupted with nameless, faceless monsters.

Hotch had them all settled into their hotel a few short hours after they had landed. The good part was that Derek received the key to the executive suite. The bad part was that he had to share it with Reid. The even worse part? It only had one bed. So much for 'executive'. At least it was split into two levels - a loft with a king bed and a bathroom, as well as a downstairs with a couch, kitchenette and another bathroom. If one of them took the couch, they'd barely even have to see each other. Derek should've felt thankful for that, but it just gave him an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

"Garcia sent us Darius Parker's current address, so I figured we'd head over there first thing after everything's settled with the CPD." Spencer said, idly placing his go bag down on the couch and pulling out a pair of sweatpants. Derek wanted to scream at the casualness of his voice, but knew the alternative was no better.

"Sure." Was all Derek could muster as he trudged up the spiral staircase, tossing his go bag onto the small ottoman in the corner before collapsing back onto the bed. He didn't even bother getting undressed - he had grown to be afraid of his own body. He simply toed off his boots and curled up under the abundance of blankets, knees held snugly to his chest as he tried to keep his breathing steady.

* * *

Spencer was fully prepared for the nightmares that would plague Derek following the events of the past few days. He just didn't know how heartbreaking it would be to hear the man he cared so deeply for whining and crying just above him. Even being on different floors of the suite, the sounds still rang loudly in Spencer's ears and he had to stifle his own whimpers. He wanted nothing more than to bound up the stairs and shake Derek awake, saving him from whatever horrors laid behind his lids, but he knew he couldn't. Derek didn't trust Spencer anymore, and the latter knew it. The last thing he wanted was for the hands of a man he once trusted, once confided in, once loved, shaking him awake from a nightmare he had caused.

Spencer kept his hands clenched at his side, and recited Arabian Nights from start to finish in his head until he drifted into a restless sleep.

* * *

  _It's his birthday - fourteen years old. You're on your way to becoming a man, Carl says. You're growing up so fast, he says. Let me give you your birthday present, he says._

_Derek fakes being sick, but he's not even sure if he's faking it. Nausea and dread settle in the pit of his stomach when his mother tells him Carl's just rung for him, inviting him up for a four day weekend at his cabin. She had told him yes, of course, and why wouldn't she? She trusted him. He looked out for her little boy. He was a blessing._

_Derek wants to tell her. It's on the tip of his tongue. He almost says it. Three words, and maybe he could save himself. But he doesn't. He sees the look in his mother's eyes, the desperation, the hope for her son's future, and he keeps his mouth shut. She tells him to take a Motrin, he'll feel better soon. He wishes it was that simple._

_He doesn't pack underwear. He learned not to do that a long time ago. No swim trunks, either. He doesn't even see the point in wearing clothes at all. Carl owns his body. It is his to look at, to touch, to use, to claim. Derek thinks he has no right to cover what isn't his any longer._

_The drive is quiet. Carl lets him listen to whatever he likes - Public Enemy, LL Cool J, The D.O.C. The heavy bass and harsh voices of men who exhume confidence fill the car. When Carl places his heavy hand on Derek's thigh so casually and innocently, Derek wishes he could be like them. 'No' tastes bitter on his tongue. He can't say it. He won't._

_"Home sweet home." Carl tells him with a grin, pulling Derek's stiff body against his as they exit the car. He slides his hand down to the swell of Derek's behind, knowing there's not a single person around for miles - it's just them. One man's solace, the other's nightmare._

_They start out the same as any night. Carl's brought him a tub of mint chip ice cream. He lets him eat as much as he wants - it's his birthday after all - but the taste just makes him sick. They get drunk, though this time Carl breaks out the harder stuff. He's forcing whiskey down Derek's throat, and Derek ignores the burn, knowing it's infinitely less disgusting than what's to come. It hits him immediately. He's dizzy, his head is in a tunnel, and the room is spinning. Happy Days is on the television, and Derek lets himself get lost in the Cunningham's perfect little world._

_"I've been wantin' to do this for so long, D." Carl purrs, bringing Derek back to the harsh reality of his life. That same rough, calloused hand on his thigh, Carl says, "I wanted to wait until you were a little older. But you're not a little boy now, are you, son?" His voice is distorted and Derek has to shake his head a few times to regain his composure._

_"No, you're not. You're gonna take this like a man, then, ain't you? No tears. If you don't fight it, it'll feel real good." Carl tells the boy, undoing the first couple of buttons on his shirt and tugging at his collar. His hands go to his pants next, and Derek squeezes his eyes shut when Carl's belt jangles._

_"Flip over." He instructs, already coaxing Derek onto his stomach. He tries to fight. He really does. But it's futile, pathetic. He's putty underneath Carl's hands. There are hands tugging down his zipper soon enough, eagerly tugging away his pants to reveal his lack of underwear. Derek hears Carl let out a low whistle, and he can hear the grin in his voice when he says, "You were waitin' for this, huh? You want it bad."_

_The crude sound of Carl spitting in his hand fills the room, and Derek twists his back to see just what he's doing. He has an idea, somewhere in his brain that he can't access through the alcohol. "What're you gonna do?" His voice doesn't even sound like his own. It's slurred, filled to the brink with panic. Carl only laughs._

_"I'm gonna show you how much I love you, son." He replies simply. His finger dips down between Derek's cheeks, and the boy yelps at the contact, trying to shimmy away, but Carl's strong hands hold him in place. He reassures, "Don't be scared. S'just me." as if that was any better._

_Soon enough he's pushing his finger into Derek's unwilling, trembling body, curling his thick digit upwards and roughly bumping the most sensitive part of Derek's body. He cries out, feeling tears prickle at the corners of his eyes as he grows aroused at the contact. Carl is grinning smugly, Derek just knows it, even with his eyes screwed shut. He wastes no time forcing another finger inside Derek, who digs his teeth in his forearm to keep from yelping._

_"Tighter than I could've imagined." Carl comments in awe, roughly scissoring his fingers before pulling them out of Derek harshly. When Carl thrusts into Derek's body without preamble, Derek feels the shame in his bones. His soul is dirty._

_Carl moves inside him ruthlessly, his grip on Derek's hips leaving bruises that don't hurt nearly as much as the anguish inside of him. He feels Carl inside every inch of him, replacing every cell, every thought. Derek's body isn't his anymore. He's starting to think it never was._

_"That's it, Der, take it like a good boy." Derek hears, except it's not Carl's voice. He struggles to look up, Carl's hand pressing his face down into the dirty old couch where he feels like he's choking on lint and filth. He catches a glimpse at the source of the voice, and the dam breaks inside him._

_Spencer is sitting in the recliner across the room, arms outstretched behind him as he watches intently with a content smile on his face. He looks so relaxed, so nonchalant with his eyes trained on Derek's shaking form. Derek's sobbing, he's yelling, he's begging, but the words don't come out._

_He takes it like a good boy._

* * *

Derek woke with a start, his sheets drenched with sweat while he panted heavily, eyes scanning the room rapidly for any sign of a threat. He nearly reached for his gun, but took one, two, three steadying breaths before he let himself lay back against the headboard. He tried to tell himself he was safe, but how true was that? Someone, somewhere, was watching, watching him writhe, watching him whimper, watching him try desperately to escape but to no avail. He felt that same sense of disgust deep inside of him, and he clambered to his feet, robotically carrying himself to the bathroom where he turned on the hot water and stripped. He looked to the mirror and resisted the urge to shatter the glass, opting to hang a towel over it instead, repulsed by the man staring back at him.

He climbed underneath the scorching hot spray, the burning on his back and shoulders not even enough to bring him out of his own mind. Reaching his hand out of the shower door and blindly fumbling around, Derek finally found a washcloth. He eagerly ran it under the water, liberally applying soap before he began violently scrubbing at his body. With every pass of his own hand, his mind flashed back to Carl - the grip on his hips, the callouses on his hands as he shoved Derek's face into the couch, the way his hand snuck around to pull on his erection - and he hid his face between his knees and screamed.

As he took a few steadying breaths and willed himself to look up, he found his eyes wandering over to the disposable razor perched on the sink. It was like the simple plastic was beckoning him. Against his better judgement, he allowed himself to reach for it. He held it in his shaky hands like it was something precious and delicate, looking at it with wary eyes before he growled and began to pry off the plastic surrounding the dull blades. It took him a few moments and he sustained a few small cuts on his fingers, but finally the last remaining piece of the plastic shot off and Derek found solace in the sound of the blades clattering to the shower floor.

His now steady hands snatched up a single blade and, without hesitation, he pressed it hard into the tender skin of his upper thigh - littered with barely there scars that had long since healed since his youth - and slowly drug it horizontally across until he saw blood. The sight sent him into a trance like state, and soon enough he was repeating the action over and over again. Some cuts were shallow, while others revealed the fatty tissue and muscle beneath his skin. He found himself rubbing his finger along the deeper gashes, not even wincing as his calloused fingertips roughly stroked the sensitive flesh. In fact, he felt an almost outré combination of pride and pleasure at the feeling. He felt like he was living, like he was in control of his body once again. He let himself rest his head on the shower wall, letting out a content sigh as the hot water pelted his wounds.

Derek had scrubbed himself clean inside and out before he stumbled out of the shower on shaky, mutilated legs, his body flushed red from the brutal scrubbing and the burning hot water. He felt the familiar sense of blood dripping down his thighs, but he didn't care. The pain made it real, made him feel present. He was there, he was in that moment, right then. But he wasn't sure what was scarier; his past or his present.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is more plot driven rather than focused on character development and issues like many of the other chapters are. two new faces added to the mix. id just like to say that these two characters both speak amharic, and while im familiar with the language, i don't speak a lick of it, so forgive me for any mediocre translations. apologies to anyone who speaks it, and if you do, corrections are thoroughly welcomed. translations will be at the end. till next time!

When Spencer awoke the next morning, he almost allowed himself to forget about the circumstances of his life for just a few split seconds. He blinked through the haze of denial soon enough and sat up from the stiff couch reluctantly, eyes landing on the clock on the bedside table. He cursed quietly and climbed off of the couch, his back popping obscenely. Him and Derek had just a little under ten minutes to get ready and head to Darius Parker's residence. Spencer couldn't hear Derek rustling around upstairs at all, though, so he huffed and ultimately decided he was going to have to wake him up.

Spencer begrudgingly climbed the stairs, trying to make a considerable amount of noise in hopes of waking Derek before he actually had to touch him. The man was knocked out, though, obviously emotionally exhausted. Carefully approaching Derek, Spencer felt his heart aching as he saw Derek's face twisted up as if he was in pain; and he was, in every sense of the word.

"Morgan." Spencer asked tentatively from across the room, but Derek barely stirred, so he tried more forcefully, "Morgan, wake up."

When he garnered no response, Spencer sighed softly and inched his way closer to the bed. Using only his first two fingers, he gently shook the other man, his lip pulled between his teeth in hesitation.

"Derek, get up." Spencer continued to coax, but to no avail. He allowed himself to grip Derek's shoulder, urging him once again, "Derek, it's-"

Suddenly, Spencer watched as Derek's eyes shot open, a look of pure terror present on his face. He violently pulled away from Spencer's touch, shoving the younger agent's hand off of him frantically. His breathing was ragged, and Spencer could see Derek's entire body shaking as he stared back at Spencer with wide, horrified eyes.

"It - It's just me." Spencer tried feebly, holding his hands up for Derek to see. It took him a moment, but Spencer watched as something switched inside Derek, the older man clearing his throat as he sat up and gave a curt nod.

"We gotta leave?" He asked roughly, already climbing to his feet. When the sheet slipped off of Derek's form, revealing the bare expanse of his backside, Spencer blushed and turned away immediately. He listened as Derek cursed quietly to himself, then fumbled around to grab clothes. Spencer kept his eyes trained on the floor, his whole body flushed red with embarrassment, while he felt the all too familiar feeling of guilt. He didn't want for Derek to feel anymore exposed than he already had to be.

"You can - yeah." Derek said lamely as he pulled on his shirt, his hands shoved in his pockets as he looked through, not at, Spencer. The other man nodded sharply, eyes lingering on Derek for a few seconds before he turned towards the stairs, when he caught a flash of something out of the corner of his eye. He slowly turned on his heels, narrowing his eyes at the sheets on Derek's bed before he gasped quietly.

"Is that blood-" He began, but Derek didn't let him finish as he quickly interrupted, "No."

"Are you hurt?" Spencer asked, moving closer to Derek out of instinct. With him, Spencer always felt the need to comfort. Though he had never been fond of touch, Spencer found himself tactilely comforting Derek more often than not. The two shared kind and intimate touches when the other was distraught, and it took Spencer a moment to realize that that was the last thing Derek needed.

"No." Derek said stiffly, automatically taking a few awkward steps backwards to move just out of Spencer's reach.

"Derek, you're-"

"I said I'm fine!" Derek replied with a growl, putting an end to Spencer's feeble line of questioning. He snappily reached for his gun and credentials, giving Spencer a look that made his mouth shut immediately. The younger agent gave a slow nod before he backed up and turned to head down the stairs, looking over his shoulder every other second. He knew his constant worrying glances set Derek on edge, but he couldn't refrain from conveying his concern.

Spencer felt wholly responsible for everything Derek was feeling, knowing fully well the man wouldn't be so distraught if he had not opened that link. It was such a simple action, one click, one decision, that completely altered both of their lives. Something so minor and seemingly insignificant had left their friendship in ruins, and Spencer wasn't sure what to even do with the pieces. They'd never be able to be glued back together, slapped with a bandaid, or stitched up and kissed better. There were so many pieces missing, so many destroyed into nothing but dust - so many memories once fond that now hurt to think about.

But Spencer had to reason with himself. He hated it, but this was a case. He had to think of it that way, and it was sad to say, but Derek was the victim. Instead of pitying him, prioritizing his own concern, Spencer had to look at him exactly as he would any other target. He could do that. He had to. It was all he had left.

* * *

The ride to Darius's home was palpably and understandably tense, filled with stifled attempts at conversation on Spencer's behalf. Despite dropping the subject, Spencer couldn't help but notice the way Derek winced whenever he sat or shifted. The pained whimpers and barely audible uncomfortable grunts were like slaps to the face for Spencer. Still, he maintained an air of professionalism, despite his growing concern for his friend (Coworker, Spencer had to remind himself. Derek was his coworker, nothing more.)

"This is it." Spencer said softly, pointing to the reasonably sized home at the end of the street. He saw Derek give a sharp nod out of the corner of his eye, and they made quick work of exiting the car and approaching the door, before Spencer watched as Derek froze in place.

"What's-" He stopped himself the minute he followed Derek's line of sight. His eyes landed on various toys scattered around the yard, while a small plastic slide and play house sat off to the side, slightly obscured by the tall bushes that surrounded the front of the house.

"What are we even doing here, man?" Derek asked doubtfully, scrubbing his hand over his face. Spencer's lips quirked into a frown, and he went to offer faux reassurance just as the front door of the house swung open.

"Can I help y'all?" A skeptical man asked from the crack in the door. Both the agents wordlessly fumbled for their credentials, flashing them at the man who narrowed his eyes at them dubiously.

"Darius Parker?" Spencer asked obviously, earning a nod from the aforementioned man. "I'm Dr. Spencer Reid, this is my partner Agent Derek Morgan." He jerked his thumb in the direction of Derek, who was staring at Darius with wary eyes. "We'd like to ask you a couple of questions if that's okay."

Darius gave another nod, stepping aside to allow the two agents inside. They both shot him polite and thankful smiles as they slid into the main room.

"Y'all want anything to drink?" Darius asked, noticeably anxious by their presence. Spencer declined politely for the both of them, and Darius shrugged and motioned for them to sit on one of the love seats as he took one of the living chairs.

"Hey, wait, I know you." Darius said, pointing to Derek as realization visibly dawned on him. Derek's back stiffened at the other man's words, but he said nothing.

"You're that guy from the news, the one who put away that sicko who touched them kids." Darius continued. Derek cleared his throat a bit before forcing his body to relax as he confirmed Darius's statement with a nod and a curt, "That's right."

"Man, that's disgusting, what that pervert did. I'm glad he got whacked in prison. S'lucky he even lived that long. If that was my boy, I woulda killed the bastard the second he touched him. Sick." Darius shook his head at the idea, and Spencer watched Derek shift uncomfortably in his seat, wincing at whatever unknown pain Spencer couldn't see.

"That's actually what we wanted to talk about, Mr. Parker." Spencer brought up as a distraction. Darius turned his gaze to Spencer, confusion and skepticism evident in his features.

"I can't tell you nothing, man. I didn't know the guy - I'm glad I didn't." He confessed with a shrug. He leaned back in his chair, and Spencer noticed his eyes darted to the clock hanging above the arch to the hallway.

"We have reason to believe you may have some.. Pertinent information worth sharing." Spencer pressed on, Darius continuing to watch him with narrowed, nervous eyes.

"The investigation we're pursuing pertains to the previous case involving Mr. Buford. Through research, we found Mr. Buford had relatives - a brother and a nephew. His brother's name is Kendrick Parker née Buford." Darius took in a sharp breath at the agent's words, and Spencer offered a sympathetic smile.

"That's my - wait. Wait, you're saying that guy.. He's my uncle?" Darius questioned incredulously, emitting a shaky sigh when Spencer nodded in confirmation.

"Did you ever meet him?" Derek piped up. "Were you ever alone with him?" Darius began to adamantly shake his head, rising to his feet as he pushed his hand through his braids.

"No, I - fuck." Darius's eyes widened slightly and he looked to the two agents apprehensively. "When I was real little, I remember my daddy used to take me up to the mountains. We'd stay up in this old cabin. I remember one time we got there and he told me to wait in the car, 'cause there was someone outside. He went up and there was all this yelling and then the guy came over to the car and started talking to me, looking at me funny. Dad got so pissed, he almost threw hands with the guy, but he left." Darius recalled, then paused and asked quietly, "Was that - was that him?"

Spencer and Derek shared thoughtful looks before they both smiled sadly and nodded. Darius clenched his jaw, hands balling into fists at his sides. Spencer grew nervous at the sight, but Derek placed his hand on his shoulder for a split second to steady him.

"Darius, was that the only time you saw him?" When Darius nodded, Derek continued, "Think hard. Sometimes our minds don't let us remember things that are painful. Think about what he looked like, his face, his body language. Did he give any indication that he had met you before?" Darius let out a frustrated sigh, screwing his eyes shut tightly, and Derek took a deep breath before he asked, "Darius, did he ever touch you?"

Darius's eyes snapped open at that and he looked about ready to lunge at Derek as he yelled, "No! What the fuck? I'm not gay!" Spencer winced at the words, looking over to Derek who had his hands clenched impossibly tight at his side.

"Mr. Parker, we're not insinuating anything, but it would be incredibly helpful if you could just-" Spencer tried to play mediator, but Darius wouldn't be placated.

"I can't help you, 'cause I don't know nothing! I didn't know the guy, and he damn sure never touched me! The fuck is wrong with you? I'd never let another guy touch me like that!" Darius spat, moving closer to where the two agents were seated. Derek squared his shoulder at the man and began to rise to his feet when Spencer braced his arm across his chest. "I know this is a difficult conversation but if you could just-"

" _Aba_?" A little boy's frightened voice interrupted Spencer. All the men drew back from each other several feet, the two agents giving the boy awkward smiles as his father strode over to him and picked him up.

"Makaiah, why you awake, little man?" Darius asked while balancing the boy on his hip.

"I hear a yelling. Who is these?" The boy inquired in his broken English. Darius shot the agents a wicked glare before giving his boy a kiss.

"No one. They was just leaving now. _Āhuni tito._ " Makaiah's father reassured. "Go play now, go on. _Ch'ewata hīdi, tinishi_." He translated for the boy, whispering to him before placing him down, " _Beruni mek’olefi._ " Makaiah looked dubiously at the two agents before he scampered off and disappeared into one of the rooms. Once the boy was out of sight, Darius turned to Derek and Spencer and hissed, "Out."

The two men nodded respectfully and headed to the door, but not before Derek reached into his back pocket to withdraw his card. "Don't hesitate to call if you remember something." He added, but Darius simply snatched the card up and grumbled, "Yeah, I'll be sure to do that." Derek looked to the younger man with pleading eyes before he sighed softly and shook his head, bursting through the door, leaving Spencer to weakly apologize and offer a faux polite smile.

Derek stalked his way over to the car, climbing in and roughly slamming the door shut. As Spencer entered the passenger seat a moment after, Derek growled and hit the steering wheel with such force it let out a loud honk.

"Derek-" Spencer tried, but the other agent simply shot him a glare and snarled, "Don't."

With a sigh, Spencer attempted to comfort, "What he said, it's not true, and you know that. Don't let it get to you." Derek snorted at that and shook his head, turning to look at Spencer.

"You think that's what I'm worried about? Fuck no. I'm thinking about how for the rest of that kid's life he's gonna wonder if he was molested. Gonna doubt himself over and over again. We just fucked up his life, and for what? What's the fucking point of this anymore?" Derek bit out, his top lip curling up in anger. Spencer could only gape at the older man, and Derek let out a frustrated sigh, screwing his eyes shut as he rubbed his temples.

"I just can't do this. He won. He's already won, and we can do all we want but he still got the last laugh. Whatever happens, whether we take down the site, whether we catch the guy who did it, whether we find even more of his victims, he still fucking wins, and I can't handle it. I can't. And I just- I need-" Derek sucked in a shaky breath and pulled his lip between his teeth before shaking his head and mumbling, "Forget it."

Spencer found himself at a loss for words, sputtering helplessly, just as his phone rang. He offered Derek a sad, weak smile before answering the call with a less than enthusiastic, "Reid."

JJ's voice was hesitant and strained on the other line as she said tightly, "You're gonna wanna hear this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aba- father, dad, daddy 
> 
> 'Āhuni tito' - [They] are leaving now. 
> 
> 'Ch'ewata hīdi, tinishi' - Go play, little one. 
> 
> 'Beruni mek’olefi' - Lock the door.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter deals with an, by my definition, attempted rape/dubious consent. please no comments arguing with this or any remarks about how women cannot rape or assault men.

Derek sat at the hotel bar with a solemn look on his face as he became reacquainted with a certain Mr. Jack Daniels. He downed the rest of the glass before him before signaling the bartender for another. His eyes were unfocused and his vision fuzzy as he stared across the way at nothing. His head was spinning and he welcomed the feeling, relishing in anything that could distract him from the words that rung in his head.

Earlier that day, JJ and Rossi had gone to interview Kendrick Buford. According to them, at first the man was belligerent and unclear in his speech, adamantly refusing to speak about his brother. They had managed to calm him down enough to get a coherent thought from him, and when they did, they immediately felt their blood run cold. The agents had grown accustomed to hearing horror stories, but watching the anguish in a parent's eyes as they revealed the grueling details of their child's trauma was something one would never get used to.

Kendrick had caught his brother, quite literally, with his pants down. He found the younger man in his son's room, both of them sitting on the carpet and leaning back on the foot of the bed behind them. Darius's pants and underwear were pulled down to his knees, and Carl was molesting him as he masturbated with his other hand. Kendrick had no idea if that was the first time Carl had touched his son, nor how long they had been at it, but he didn't want to know, and didn't pressure Darius to talk. The man must've been too afraid of harming his child's psyche by grilling him with questions. Darius was so young - nine at the time - that Kendrick was sure the boy didn't even know what was happening, nor could he understand the severity and perversity of it. As a result, they never spoke about it, and Kendrick never reported his brother. Over time, they all seemed to forget about it, Darius repressing the traumatic memory and Kendrick denying the event ever occurred.

Knowing not only that Kendrick had to relive such a horrible moment, but that Derek's suspicions about the nature of Darius's relationship with his uncle were proven true was far too much for Derek to handle sober. So, that was how he ended up here, three glasses of whiskey later.

As he worked on his fourth, still gazing off with that haunted look in his eyes, he heard rustling beside him, and then the sound of a soft feminine voice saying to him, "Person, place, or thing?"

Derek turned to look at the girl, blinking away some of the cloudiness in his vision as he took in her appearance. She was no doubt a good amount of years younger than Derek, with porcelain skin and platinum blonde hair. Her thin frame was accentuated by the tight navy blue lace dress she wore, her obviously naturally small breasts padded and pushed together. In a life that seemed so distant and extinct, Derek would've shot her a wide grin, let his fingers travel deftly up her arm to her face to tuck back strands of her long hair, tell her she was gorgeous, beautiful, take her back to his place, and have some good-natured fun. Now her presence just made him feel numb.

"All of the above." Derek told her gruffly. She laughed softly at that, the sound grating Derek's ears.

"I'm Anita." She introduced proudly, a smile playing on her lips. Derek forced himself to mirror the expression.

"Isaiah. Maxwell." He lied smoothly. At that moment, he would've told her he was Donald fucking Trump if it meant not having to be Derek Morgan for the night. He let his eyes roam over her body, and what would've excited him once now simply left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Well, Mr. Maxwell," she began in a low voice, her fingers dancing across his hand as she leaned in, "it seems like you need a distraction." Derek would've laughed at the truth in her statement, but he was too busy trying to maintain his façade. He flashed her a devious grin and she giggled softly, her hand trailing up his arm before she retreated and reached into her purse.

"How's this for a distraction?" She challenged as she slid her room key across the bar. Derek looked to her in contemplation before he snatched the card up and held it up between his fingers, willing his fake grin to grow wider. She let out another flirty laugh and rose to her feet, stumbling slightly on her beige heels. She held her hand out for Derek, who stood and took her hand with feigned enthusiasm.

Anita was all giggles and amiable smiles the whole trek to her room. She asked him a few simple questions - what he did, where he was from, what brought him to Chicago. He once again lied with ease, telling her he was an investment banker from New York, coming up to visit family. The latter wasn't much of a lie, as he knew eventually his mother or sisters would catch wind of the fact that he was in his home town. Anita droned on and on about how she was an aspiring pediatric surgeon doing an internship at Shriner's, how she loved her job, how precious children were, how she hated seeing them in pain. Derek clenched his jaw throughout the whole one-sided conversation, forcing himself to nod thoughtfully each time she turned to him to gauge his response.

By the time they got to Anita's room, the conversation had dwindled off into nothing, and soon enough Anita was grabbing at the front of Derek's shirt, her back against the wall as the pulled him in impossibly close for an open-mouthed kiss. The forcefulness of the action made Derek whimper softly, but Anita took it as a sound of encouragement. She eagerly slipped her tongue into Derek's unwilling mouth, letting it mingle alongside his. He tried to ground himself by gripping her narrow hips with one hand, the other traveling down her backside. He felt the woman grin wolfish against his lips before she pushed him back and retrieved her key card, wasting no time in unlocking the door. She pulled Derek inside by his hand, slamming the door shut behind them and pushing him up against it. She deftly began to unbutton his shirt, and Derek felt panic rise inside of him. He made himself take several deep breaths, letting his hands roam across her willowy figure. She felt everything but masculine, and her soft skin beneath his hands soothed him just enough to get by.

While Anita undid the last button of Derek's shirt, she shoved it off his shoulders before stepping back with a smirk on her face. She wordlessly reached behind her back, unzipping her dress and letting it fall to the floor. Clad in only her underwear and heels, she stepped out of the dress and walked backwards towards the bed, beckoning Derek with an inviting look. He gulped helplessly as he stared at her blankly before he geared into action and approached the bed, toeing off his shoes and socks on the way over. He stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed, looming over Anita as he found his eyes wandering across her body. He heard her giggle, and suddenly she was tugging him down onto the bed by his belt buckle. He fell gracelessly on top of her with a brief grunt, legs letting out a cry of pain at the friction as Anita ground against him. His body went still and tense as she began to palm at the front of his pants. She frowned a little bit, averting her eyes to Derek.

"What's a matter, baby, you need a little help getting there?" She asked, punctuating with a press of her heel against Derek's groin. He forced himself to laugh softly and nodded jerkily, hollowly returning the grin she gave him. She flipped Derek over onto his back, crawling into his lap while letting her hands travel along the hard expanse of his muscles. She began to kiss and nip at his neck, trailing her kisses lower and lower until her lips were pressed just above the waistband of his pants. She looked up to him with another signature smirk before she made quick work of his belt and zipper, tugging down his pants. The rough material drug over the wounds on his thighs painfully, and he was ever so thankful for the lack of light in the room. He twitched slightly as Anita trailed her finger up his cock, just letting his body react as his mind floated off elsewhere.

After a few short moments, Anita was pulling down Derek's briefs, urging him to kick them and his pants off. When he did, she grinned and settled between his legs, her hands resting on his hips, obviously ignoring the hiss of pain Derek emitted. Soon enough, Derek felt a familiar warmth surround him, Anita's tongue running along his length as she stretched her lips around the base. The woman certainly knew what she was doing, bringing Derek's reluctant body to full hardness after a few minutes. She peppered kisses up his length before pulling back and looking to him with hungry eyes. She shimmied her way back into Derek's lap and took his hands in hers, placing them forcefully onto her bra-clad breasts. He got the hint and, with trembling fingers, reached back to unhook the article, watching as Anita let it fall off her shoulders and onto the ground. His hands ran along the soft skin on her back before they came around to her chest, when he promptly froze.

Anita laughed softly at Derek's hesitation, telling him, "Sweetheart, if you like what you see, feel free to touch." Then, leaning down and gently kissing the shell of his ear, she whispered, "I'm all yours tonight." Derek gulped at her words and let his shaky hands travel up to cup her breasts. Her eyes fluttered shut as she let out a content sigh, arching into the touch. Derek forced himself to stay present, focusing on the sound of the soft, feminine noises that escaped Anita's plush, pink mouth, and the feeling of her small breasts beneath his hands.

As she ground her hips down onto Derek, the weight of her on top of him, no matter how small she was, still made him flinch, whether from physical pain or mental distress. As a result, he involuntarily canted his hips up against her. She mistook it for eagerness and once again grinned hungrily down at him, repeating the action before placing one hand on Derek's chest to lift herself up. Derek watched helplessly as slid her panties to the side, not even bothering to remove them entirely. Before she could go any further, Derek whined quietly and gripped her hips to keep her stationary.

The word 'no' was on the tip of Derek's tongue, but when he met Anita's heated gaze all he could do was say, "I uh- Condoms?" The feeble cover up had Anita laughing faintly, a low, hungry sound that make Derek feel like nothing but an object for her pleasure.

"I'm on the pill, handsome. I wanna feel you, every inch of you. No barrier - skin to skin." She whispered huskily, leaning down to kiss him fervently before she pulled back after nipping at his bottom lip. Without preamble, she was repeating her earlier actions, this time sinking slowly down on Derek with a long, high pitched moan. The man left his arms fall back down to his side, where they stayed as he clenched his fists while Anita ever so slowly took in every inch of him. When she rolled her hips and let out a surprised moan, Derek screwed his eyes shut and forced himself to thrust lazily up into her.

"Mm, you like that, baby boy?" She asked rhetorically, beginning to bounce up and down in Derek's lap. He bit his lip at the nickname that had his stomach churning with anxiety, and as his breathing became erratic, his mind traveled elsewhere. He could feel the familiar tight, wet heat surrounding him, yet all he could think of was a calloused hand wrapped around him. Every word Anita said was so distinctively feminine, but Derek could only hear that familiar gruff voice murmuring perverse and unspeakable things in his ear. The woman on top of him began to quicken her pace, her hands roaming across her own body as she threw her head back in pleasure. She was egging Derek on, crying out obscene commands as her hips began to stutter. When she leaned down to capture Derek's mouth in another heated kiss and let her lips travel to the shell of his ear, the feeling of her heavy breath ghosting across the skin set off panic inside Derek.

With a choked sob, he whispered faintly, "Stop." Whether Anita didn't hear him or did, but decided to ignore it, was an unanswerable question, but Derek's plea still hung heavily in the air. She was whimpering and moaning right into the Derek's ear, the sounds growing in pitch with every second. He gripped her hips to try and still her, but she continued to grind down onto him without preamble.

"Please stop." He begged more forcefully this time, loud enough for the woman to hear, but she simply continued to writhe in Derek's lap, chasing her release fervently.

"I said _stop_!" Derek lost the rest of his resolve and growled, pushing the woman off of him a bit rougher than he should have. Her eyes were wide and fearful for a split second before anger overcame her features and she asked, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Derek had no idea when he had begun trembling, but as he looked to Anita and heard her accusatory tone, he realized his whole form was shaking like a leaf. All he could do was gape at her, grasping for a lifeline that just wasn't there. She scoffed at him, climbing to her feet and beginning to dress.

"Fucking unbelievable." She hissed with her back to Derek. After putting her bra back on and stepping into her dress, she turned around to face Derek, flinging his clothes at his face and asking him, "I'm not good enough for you, is that it? Huh? Not pretty enough? Is that why you couldn't get it up?" She gritted her teeth as she approached the bed, watching as Derek sat up and made a feeble attempt to clothe himself.

"Answer me!" She cried out, leaning forward and shoving at Derek's shoulders. He jerked violently under her touch, scooting back as far as he could while he pleaded, "Please, don't. Don't touch me."

Anita looked at him with eyes so furious that Derek had to blink back terrified tears. With untamed anger and ferocity, she yelled, "Oh, that's not what you said when I had your dick in my mouth! You didn't like that? Didn't like how it felt when you were inside me? No, you know you liked it!" She insisted, and Derek let out a growl as he rose to his feet, stepping into her personal space and crowding her against the nearby wall.  
  
"No, I didn't! I didn't like it! I asked you to stop and you didn't! Why? Why didn't you stop? Why didn't he stop, why didn't-" Derek's breathing was labored, his eyes wild and frenzied as he stepped back out of the woman's space. She looked at him with narrowed, angry eyes before they widened, like a lightbulb had gone off inside her.

"God, are you- Are you _gay_?" Anita asked, not giving Derek a chance to even process the words before she continued, "Jesus fucking Christ, you're gay. That's it, isn't it? Trying to prove yourself? Trying to compensate? Who'd you have to think of when you were fucking me, hm? Did you have t-" The woman's tirade abruptly stopped when she watched Derek swing his arm back to reach for the clock on the bedside table. With an unimaginable amount of force, he flung the object at the wall behind Anita with a loud growl. It shattered the second it hit the wall, pieces of glass and plastic flying around the room.

It only took a few split seconds for Derek to realize what he had done. He looked back to Anita, the fear in her eyes palpable while her already light skin grew even paler. His face fell at the sight, the features once overcome with rage now soft and regretful.

"I- I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-" He began to weakly apologize, taking a few steps towards Anita to make sure she wasn't injured. The look she gave him stopped him dead in his tracks, and she demanded, "Get out." Derek placed his hands up in surrender, but when he didn't back up immediately, the woman yelled, "Get the fuck out!"

Derek looked at her one last time, his bottom lip quivering as he stepped back and clumsily slid into his shoes. He took a few ragged breaths breaths before he sulked his way to the door, murmuring from the doorway, "I'm sorry." once again. Anita slammed it behind him and he was left all alone, feeling used and empty in an old, dirty hallway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The objects I chose were designed to hold something, but I didn't fill them up. They remained empty. They were little symbolic shrines to thirst." Margaret Atwood


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feelings begin to resurface, and derek learns to be vulnerable

"Come on." Spencer grumbled as he gave yet another light kick to the soda machine before him. It was well past midnight, and without Derek's presence - no matter how much he ignored Spencer - which managed to keep him more alert, he desperately needed caffeine. Coffee took too long to brew, and he was impatient. But alas; soda machines were the devices from hell.

"Jesus Christ, come on!" The next kick was a bit more forceful, but when the machine refused to drop the soda, Spencer growled low in his throat and slammed his hand against it one last time with an angry shout. He felt his breathing begin to sped up, and felt the familiar sensation of tears welling in his eyes. He scoffed at himself for breaking down over a fucking soda, but the simple struggle was the straw that broke the camel's back. He found himself giving the machine another pathetic punch before he slid down to the ground and threaded his fingers in his hair, tugging roughly on the strands. His hands traveled down to his face and he began to fiercely wipe at his eyes to rid the tears that had threatened to spill.

"Fuck, get it together." Spencer whispered to himself. He let his head fall back onto the machine with a thud, screwing his eyes shut tight. He took a few sharp breaths before he nodded his head silently to himself and rose to his feet. With squared shoulders and a chin held high, Spencer retreated back down the hallway to the room, forcing himself to prepare for another night of facing horror.

Once he arrived at the door and began to fumble around for his keycard, Spencer's ears perked up as he heard garbled sounds coming out from the room. Instinctively he reached for his service weapon, only to find it was absent, before he realized the absurdity of his worry. The whole case had him so on edge that he was jumping at the slightest things. But who could blame him? He had looked evil dead in the eyes more times that he could count.

As he pushed open the door, the sounds he had heard while out in the hallway grew louder. The soft hum of his laptop's fan filled the room, as well as a familiar static he had grown so accustomed to hearing. His eyes darted around the room before he found Derek hunched over Spencer's laptop, a blank expression covering his face.

"Morgan, don't." Spencer said quietly, but Derek barely acknowledged him. "You don't want to see that." He begged, only garnering a small shake of the head from Derek who remained stoic as he stared at the screen. With a sigh of defeat, Spencer began to chew on his lip in contemplation before he inched towards the couch where Derek sat. He took a seat on the end farthest from Derek, eyeing the older man warily before he let his eyes wander to the screen.

As usual, Carl and Derek were relaxing on the couch, though this time Carl had Derek pulled possessively into his lap. Their position was the epitome of awkward, Derek's long, thin limbs sprawled everywhere while Carl's muscular arms held him in place.

"Your momma called me the other day." Carl said as he pursed his lips in thought. Derek gulped at the sound of the man's voice, peeking up at him with frightful eyes. Carl offered him a small grin before he shook his head and told him, "You're not in trouble, son. But she's worried about you." Derek looked away from Carl guiltily, nibbling on his lip as he braced himself for whatever was to come.

"She told me you've been hangin' around that girl. What's her name? Ladasha?" Carl questioned, Derek answering in a mumble, "Latoya."

With a nod, Carl continued, "Yeah, that's it. Your momma said that girl's trouble. She don't like you spendin' time with her. Says she's a bad influence. That true?" It was barely phrased as a question, since it was evident Carl had already made up his mind.

"She's a nice girl." Derek murmured in response. Carl looked at him and for a moment anger and betrayal flashed in his eyes before he forced himself to smile.

"That so? You like her?" He continued to question. When Derek blushed and nodded, Carl let out a tut and pulled the boy closer to his chest.

"You fuck her?" He asked bluntly. Derek's eyes widened as he stared to the man, who only scoffed and said, "C'mon, we're both men here, D. I thought we talked about you bein' shy with me?" Derek's lip was quivering, but he nodded his understanding nonetheless.

"Good boy. Now, tell me. Did you fuck her?" Carl repeated. This time, Derek shook his head 'no' adamantly, looking to the man with pleading eyes.

"Hm. You didn't?" Another shake of the head set Carl off, "She touch you, then? Use her mouth on you?" Even with Derek's dark complexion and the dim lighting of the video, it was plain as day that he was blushing head to toe. He paused before he slowly nodded, looking away ashamedly.

"How'd it feel? She make you feel good?" Carl grilled, his voice taking on an angry tone. Derek's eyes were fearful and hesitant while he faintly whispered, "I didn't.. You know."

Carl seemed pleased with that answer, a small grin playing on his lips before he replaced it with a frown, asking with feigned concern, "You didn't come?" Derek shook his head again, beginning to squirm a bit in Carl's lap. The man held him still, obviously not done with him.

"I always make you come, don't I?" His gruff voice asked. He was now leaning into Derek's face, his breathing hot and heavy. "Yeah, you know I do. 'Cause I'm the only one who can make you feel good. Ain't that right, boy?" Carl looked to the boy expectantly, and all Derek could do was nod dumbly.

"That's 'cause I love you, son. That floozy, she don't love you like I do. She don't know how special you are. You're my special boy." Carl purred in Derek's ear, nipping at his ear lobe before his hand slid down Derek's side and immediately went to the front of his pants. He pulled back and grinned at the boy, fingers moving deftly to undo his belt.

"You're hard already." He observed. His voice was laced with pride and hunger, a primal smirk on his face. As he tugged down Derek's pants and underwear, Spencer immediately looked away, his eyes screwed shut throughout the entire scene. "All for me, son. All for me, and me only." He heard Carl groan.

Next to him, Spencer felt Derek shift in his seat, but Spencer couldn't bring himself to look over to the man. He kept his eyes closed and his hands clasped in his lap, forcing back the tears that began to well up behind his lids. He heard Carl rustling around in the video, and a pained whimper emitted from Derek. This time, though, it was not coming from the speakers - it came from beside Spencer. Just at that moment, Spencer felt a cold, trembling hand cover his, causing his eyes to shoot open. He looked to Derek, then down to his lap where their hands rested. He silently threaded their fingers together, noticing how tightly Derek gripped his hand.

"That's my good boy. Such a sweet boy, D. My special, special boy." He heard Carl say breathlessly. Spencer chanced a look at the screen, giving a whimper of his own when he saw Derek with his legs splayed wide open, Carl's hand shoved between them. At the sound of those words, Derek whined pathetically and shifted closer to Spencer before he hid his face in Spencer's neck, soaking his shirt with tears. Spencer immediately closed and shoved away the laptop, opting to wrap his arms around Derek's shaking form instinctively. He held him tight and fiercely, not saying a word even as Derek's grip bordered on painful. Derek's breathing was erratic and shaky, and Spencer worried the man had begun to hyperventilate.

"Breathe, Derek. Just breathe." He instructed weakly, knowing fully well Derek was trying with all his might just to do so. But Spencer continued to encourage him, rubbing soothing circles on Derek's back despite the fact that his own hands were shaking. After a few tantalizing moments, Derek had managed to calm his breathing, but could not quell the tremors that wracked his body. Spencer's body had begun to shake as well, and together the two of them shouldered a pain so deep and malevolent it would continue to haunt them for the rest of their lives.

Derek began to shuffle around restlessly, desperately clutching to Spencer's shirt. Spencer reacted by simply holding Derek protectively, leaning his head against the older man's. Soon enough, Derek's sobs had dwindled into hiccups, and he had managed take some deep, albeit shaky, breaths. Too reluctant to release Derek from his grip, Spencer settled on furiously wiping his face against his shoulder to clear the tears that stained his cheeks. He wouldn't let Derek see him cry. He couldn't. He had no right. He had betrayed him, hurt him so deeply. It was not his pain to feel.

He listened Derek gave another pathetic sob, hands gripping and clawing at Spencer's shoulders. The older man slowly began to raise his head, peeking up at Spencer from under his wet eyelashes. There was fear and apprehension in his eyes, but just a slight shine of hope. The presence of it made Spencer's heart skip, and he allotted himself a few moments to revel in it before it disappeared as it so often did. But this time, it didn't. It remained glaringly present, only growing when Derek shifted on the couch until he was practically in Spencer's lap. His grip on the younger man's shoulder had gone lax, now gentle and reassuring. Spencer was so focused on the look in Derek's eyes, he had yet to realize just how close their faces were. Every breath Derek let out ghosted across Spencer's face, and Spencer felt the hand on his shoulder begin to travel upwards, unsteady and trembling, but certain.

"Make me forget." Derek whispered hoarsely, barely audible over the sounds of their hearts beating. Spencer had no time to react before Derek was leaning in and crushing their mouths together, both arms winding around Spencer's shoulders. His hands found their way to Spencer's face, and he roughly grabbed it and kissed him even deeper, their teeth clashing together. Spencer, against his better judgement, allowed himself to return Derek's kiss, albeit reluctantly and hesitantly. Derek was soon moving to straddle Spencer's lap, urging the younger man to touch him. He grabbed his hands and placed them on the small of his back just as he began mouthing at Spencer's jaw, lips traveling down to his neck.

As Derek began to tug on Spencer's collar, Spencer gripped a handful of Derek's button up, letting himself feel every nip and kiss before logic overtook him. "Derek, stop." He tried to say forcefully, but he was cut off by his own squeak as Derek dug his canines into Spencer's pulse point.

"Derek, please, don't do this. We can't do this." Spencer pleaded, more stern and grounded this time. He felt Derek's body stiffen under his hands, and Spencer couldn't help the pained noise he left out when Derek looked at him with hurt, angry eyes.

"Why? You don't want me? Am I too used? Damaged goods to you?" He said bitterly. Spencer winced at his tone, adamantly shaking his head, but he couldn't make the words come out. Something switched behind Derek's eyes, his face softening. Slowly he began to run his hands down Spencer's thighs, whispering pleadingly in Spencer's ear, "It can only be you." He attached his lips to Spencer's neck once again, continuing his previous ministrations. Spencer's head was spinning, his thoughts jumbled and cloudy, but the word 'no' still rang in his ears.

Spencer firmly gripped Derek's shoulders and pushed him back, looking into his cold, detached eyes. "This is the last thing you want to do." He told him sternly yet softly, tentatively reaching up to cup Derek's cheek. "You're more than this, Derek, you don't need this."

Derek looked at him with childlike uncertainty, his jaw clenched, face trembling. His breathing had sped up once again. He was taking shallow, gasping breaths, unable to keep himself from falling into pieces. He let out a heart-wrenching sound, a mix between a choked sob and a pained yelp, before burying his face into Spencer's chest once again. Spencer, without hesitation, pulled him in even closer, his thin arms wrapping around Derek's muscular midsection. He had never seen him like this. The visage of strength and confidence, the ultimate protector, the epitome of alpha male, reduced to a sniveling mess. But Spencer wouldn't call him broken. He wouldn't call him helpless, weak, or lacking in the masculinity he seemed to exhumed, because he was none of that.

But he was vulnerable. Derek had ripped his heart from his chest and laid it into Spencer's open hands. He had trusted Spencer with his life countless times out in the field, but he had never been this exposed, this fragile. In that moment, he had given everything to Spencer, and the younger man was desperate to prove himself trustworthy. He needed Derek to see how deeply he cared, how deeply he loved, even. Derek had been hurt so many times, been betrayed by people he loved, trusted, and looked up to. Spencer wasn't going to let himself become Buford - a man who Derek respected, trusted, and cared for, who had wounded him so deeply the scars would never heal.

Eventually, Derek's breathing had begun to steady and he went limp in Spencer's arms. The only sounds he was making came in the form of small hiccups and sniffles. Spencer could feel the tension drain from Derek's body, and soon the man became a deadweight on top of Spencer. He smiled sadly down at Derek, cautiously running his hand down his tear stained cheek.

"Let's get you to bed." Spencer told him, urging Derek to stand but he adamantly shook his head, murmuring, "Wanna stay here." Spencer nodded and gave his back a pat before trying to wiggle out from underneath Derek, but the atter gripped Spencer's hand tightly and looked up at him, his eyes shiny and pleading.

"Wanna stay here _with you_." He revealed sheepishly. "Will you? Stay, I mean." Spencer looked down to him with his lip pulled between his teeth, at a loss for words, before he settled back down on the couch. He maneuvered both his and Derek's bodies so they could lie back together. Derek instantly snuggled back into Spencer's chest without preamble, his breathing evening out and his eyelids drooping blearily. Spencer himself closed his eyes, burying the side of his face in the hotel pillow while he continued to absentmindedly rub Derek's back. He was moments away from sleep before the sound of Derek's gruff yet quaint voice came through to him.

"Thank you." Was all he managed to say before he succumbed to sleep. Spencer looked down to him, his bottom lip trembling as he replied in a wavering voice, "Anything for you."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for this chapter being a little late, i got a bit of a writers block! this chapter discusses racism and a hate crime, and also more dialogue in amharic. translations will be posted at the end. 
> 
> also - i found this really sweet picture the other day and it's exactly how i picture darius and makaiah: https://cherokeebillie.files.wordpress.com/2013/06/fatherly-love.jpg

Derek awoke the next morning to the shrill sound of his cell phone ringing. It took him a while to register the sound, and even longer to realize whose arms he was wrapped up in. His first instinct was the flee, jerk away from the thin yet subtly muscular arms that encompassed him. But he didn't. He let himself burrow into the warmth surrounding him for just a few short moments that passed by too quickly for his liking. Slowly, he disentangled his body from Spencer's, stretching and rolling his shoulders before he padded the short distance it took to reach his phone. The number was unknown, and Derek answered with a skeptical, "Agent Morgan."

The first thing he heard was frightened, labored breathing on the other line. There were no words for a few seconds, and Derek was about to hang up before he heard a voice ask, "This Derek Morgan?" Derek didn't recognize the quaint, wavering voice at first, but he nodded to himself and verbally affirmed the question.

"I- It's Darius. Parker. You told me to call if I, uh, remembered anything, so-" The voice revealed. Derek stilled at the words, the sleepy haze draining from his body as his back stiffened.

"Are you okay?" was Derek's immediate response to the man's hesitant, frightened voice. He listened as Darius shuffled around a bit on the other line before he replied, "I- No. No, man, I- Listen, can I just, like, come in and talk to you or somethin'?" Derek was already grabbing his things before the words even left Darius's mouth. He shrugged Spencer awake, mouthing Darius's name when Spencer looked at him in confusion. The younger man's eyes widened and he nodded, jumping up to dress himself.

"You can come down to the station. I'll be there in a few minutes." Derek told Darius, pocketing his keys and credentials before he headed out of the hotel room with Spencer following suit.

"Wait, I- I'm not going to have to talk to them cops, right? Just you?" Darius asked pleadingly. Derek stopped to worry his bottom lip for a moment before he said, "If that's what you want." He heard Darius let out a sigh of relief as he hopped into the elevator.

"Okay. Alright, cool, I'll- Thank you. Thanks." Darius stuttered out before the call abruptly ended, leaving Derek with a foreboding feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something didn't sit right with him, yet he wasn't entirely sure why.

When the elevator came to a halt on the main floor, Derek went to exit into the lobby when Spencer's hand on his elbow stopped him. The younger man looked up to Derek with concerned eyes and asked quietly, "Are you okay?" Derek didn't give much thought to the question, robotically nodding before shrugging off Spencer's hand and heading out into the parking lot. Spencer offered to drive, but Derek insisted on doing so. He felt maybe the drive would calm down some of his nerves.

Derek expected to see Darius Parker standing in the bullpen of the Chicago police station. What he didn't expect was to see the man in a heated argument with a certain officer Derek had grown all too familiar with, while balancing young Makaiah on his hip. Derek instinctively shoved Spencer behind him as he approached the men, the younger agent sounding like he was about to protest, but no arguments came about. As they made their way over to Darius and Gordinski, they caught some snippets of their conversation.

"You've caused nothing but trouble here! You're wasting our time! Take your ass and that kid out of my station!" The officer yelled at Darius, who stepped forward another inch and hissed, "You don't know shit about this! You and them other goons are the ones causin' trouble! You know what they did to Aisha, yet none of y'all give a fuck! You think you're untouchable? You-" Derek cut Darius off the instant he stepped between the two men, facing Gordinski, who visibly shrunk under the scrutiny of the agent.

"Is there a problem here?" Derek asked levelheadedly. Gordinski looked helplessly at Derek, sputtering as he searched for an answer. He simply decided to shake his head, snapping his mouth shut.

"Good. Because I'd hate to have to talk to my unit chief about this. I don't think he'd take too kindly to a decorated officer berating one of our witnesses, don't you agree?" Derek threatened with his chin held high. The officer who once made Derek cower in fear was nodding his understanding in silence before he scampered off without a word. Derek waited for him to disappear down a corridor before he turned to face Darius and Makaiah.

"Why don't we get settled in the interview room?" He asked, jerking his thumb in the direction of the room while offering the child a small smile. Darius nodded, but when Spencer began to follow the older men he paused and glanced over his shoulder at the younger man.

"Does he- Does he gotta come?" He asked Derek in a low whisper. He chanced another look at Spencer, who seemed a bit surprised but not argumentative in the slightest. "No offense." Darius offered weakly, but Spencer just smiled in understanding.

"No, I'll be staying out here. There's a little room here for the children if you'd like to take your son there." Spencer explained, but Darius just shook his head.

"He's comin' with me." He stated plainly, holding Makaiah against his chest. The boy seemed frightened by those surrounding him, but he visibly relaxed in the presence of his father. Neither Spencer nor Derek were willing to separate the two.

Derek led Darius into the interview room quietly, making sure to close the door and pull down the blinds to grant them privacy. He motioned for Darius to take a seat on the small couch as he pulled up a chair for himself. Darius sat awkwardly on the couch, Makaiah by his side watching Derek with dubious and fearful eyes. He leaned closed to his father and asked him, " _Ānidi met’ifo sewi newi_?" Then added, " _Irisu sile inya yigodali yihoni?_ " The fear in the child's voice was evident, and it caused a frown to appear on Derek's face.

The boy's father shook his head, whispering, " _Irisu melikami sewochi mekakeli ānidu newi_." He punctuated the statement with a gentle kiss to the boy's head, and Derek smiled softly as he watched a certain wave of calm overcome Makaiah.

"Would you like coffee or water or anything? Maybe I could get your little guy a toy?" Derek offered, but Darius simply shook his head, then pursed his lips as he looked to the ground. He took a few deep breaths before he looked back up at Derek, braids falling into his face as he spoke. "I 'member him." He said in an almost inaudible mumble. Derek didn't say a word, just let the man speak freely.

"My daddy called me after y'all left the other day. He said some Feds came to his house, too. He started askin' me all these questions about what y'all asked me, what I said, how I acted. He was gettin' all paranoid and we started arguin'. I kept askin' him what he knew and what the hell this was about. And he said- he told me that I um- When I was a kid, I was-" Derek noticed Darius's hands were trembling as he squeezed Makaiah tightly to his body. The boy hummed happily and buried his face in his father's neck, paying no mind to Derek.

"He said he saw that guy, that- His brother. He said he saw his brother.. Messin' with me." Darius's voice dwindled into a whisper by the end of his sentence. He began to idly stroke Makaiah's hair, his eyes zoning out as he stared passed Derek.

"Messing with you, how?" Derek asked, though he already knew the answer. The specifics counted if he was going to take a statement, as much as he hated the idea. Darius felt the same, as evident by his pained and disgusted look.

"C'mon, man, don't make me say it." He asked with an edge to his voice. Derek sighed quietly but continued to look at him pointedly.

With a huff, Darius said in a low grumble, "He was touching me. I- Molesting me. Whatever you wanna call it." He screwed his eyes shut tight, his head hung low.

"Do you remember that happening, or do you just know what your father told you?" Derek implored in a gentle, easy tone. Darius chewed on the inside of his check before he gave a heavy sigh.

"At first I didn't. But then I started thinking 'bout it and I- shit just started to come back to me, and then-" Darius shook his head, clearing his throat as he chanced a look at Derek, who watched him with sympathetic, yet not pitiful, eyes.

"You can tell me." He assured with a sad smile. Darius's nod was brief and sharp, and he attempted to search for the words.

"I remembered he- There was this place, this ice cream place. He took me there a lot. I was little, I think maybe seven. And I remember he was just.. Watching me, with that ice cream cone in my hand. The way he was looking at me and licking his lips, like he was- Fuck, I don't even wanna know what he was thinkin'." The man tried to shake the thought from his brain, his breathing becoming heavy and labored. He rested his chin on top of Makaiah's head, running his hand up and down the boy's arm softly. Derek fondly observed the way the two provided comfort for one another - how they each felt safe in the presence of one another.

"Do you remember him molesting you any other times?" Derek pressed, digging his nails into his leg as he watched tears begin to well up in Darius's eyes. Wordlessly, he gave a jerky nod, meeting Derek's eyes.

"I remember he- He was babysittin' me, I think. My daddy wasn't home. We was watchin' Scooby Doo. He started talkin' to me about school, I don't know. I told him I got a A on a project, something I did about dinosaurs. He said he was proud of me, and, y'know, it was nice. My daddy didn't really care, he was always too busy. He complimented me a lot, but it was.. Weird. The way he talked, way he looked at me. He said I- I deserved a reward, for my hard work. And then he- He was- With his.. fingers-" Darius cut himself off with a choked sob, shaky hands going to his face to wipe at his leaking eyes.

"He- He put them- God, fuck, man, he put them in me. It hurt, hurt bad, but he didn't stop. I told him we shouldn't do that, that guys shouldn't touch each other like that. But he said it was normal, and I believed him. I fucking believed him. Fuck, I was so stupid. I let him-" He wouldn't let himself finish the sentence, the shame and disgust he felt seeping into Derek's bones.

"That wasn't your fault, Darius. You were just a kid." Derek insisted, but he knew it was futile. It took him nearly thirty years to even entertain the thought that maybe it wasn't his fault. He knew Darius wouldn't be able to think so for a long, long time.

With a scoff, Darius replied, "Fuck that, you know it was. I let him touch me. And I even-" He swallowed thickly and looked back to the ground as he whispered, "I.. Climaxed. Had a- Y'know."

Derek felt like he was looking into a mirror when he saw the disgraced look in Darius's teary eyes. The man knew all too well what the other was going through. For a split second, Derek was almost thankful. Like he had a privilege, being here with Darius, providing understanding. He knew any other man wouldn't understand, couldn't understand. In that moment, he felt grateful for his pain, as if it had a purpose.

"Darius, believe me when I say that none of this was your fault. You didn't let him do anything. He took advantage of you, and it wasn't right." Derek said, then paused to take a deep breath before revealing, "Darius, Carl Buford did the same thing to me. I was a little kid, just like you. And when he put his hands on me, I felt that same shame, that same disgust, that you're feeling now. But that shame isn't ours. It's his." He placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward towards Darius, his eyes soft and sympathetic. A shocked expression crept it's way onto Darius's features as he eyed Derek warily.

"You..?" Derek could only nod to the implied question, watching as Darius let out a sharp exhale. He looked up to Derek guiltily, murmuring, "Fuck, I'm sorry." Derek shook his head and smiled sympathetically at the man.

"You didn't do anything." Derek replied simply. Darius's mouth quirked into a thankful smile just as Makaiah began to wiggle restlessly. The father looked down to his son with a grin, smoothing his hand down the boy's back. Makaiah smiled toothily up at Darius before he caught sight of Derek and his eyes widened. He let out a whimper before hiding his face back in Darius's chest, the older man frowning.

"No, no. It's okay, _tinishi_. _Inyami ke’irisu gari āsitemamanyi kehonu_. Promise." Darius said, tilting his son’s face up to look at him. The boy seemed to consider him for a moment, and Darius nodded at him in encouragement. Makaiah shifted a bit until he was looking at Derek, who gave him a smile and a wave.

"Say hi. _Selami_." Darius urged. His son returned Derek's wave, squeaking out a, "Se- Hello." dragging out the syllables as he tested the word out. Darius smiled at that, turning to face Derek.

"His English ain't so good, but we're tryin'." Darius revealed. Makaiah watched the two men peculiarly, scrutinizing Derek who nodded thoughtfully.

"He doesn't like cops." He observed, and Darius gave an airy, humorless laugh before shaking his head. He looked down to his son for a moment before letting out an unsteady breath. He began to fidget uncomfortably, shifting so that Makaiah was snuggled into his side where he could sneak glances at Derek.

"His momma was from Addis Abäba, in Ethiopia. Her name was Aisha. She immigrated here in 2009, and we got together a lil' while after that. We got married when she got pregnant with 'Kaiah." Darius seemed to reflect fondly on the memory, a small smile appearing on his face before he cleared his throat and continued, "She had him in the backseat one night when she was drivin' home. He was only one at the time, real little. Aisha ended up takin' a detour, cuttin’ through an alley. She uh- She got pulled over, and she started to freak out. She ain't know any English, she had no idea what was goin' on. She thought she was goin' to jail, that they were gonna deport her. Cop said she got hysterical, started gettin' handsy, and he tried to restrain her, but that was bullshit. Fucking pig, he-" Darius reached up with a shaky hand to cradle Makaiah's head, obscuring the boy's hearing.

"He raped her. Right over the hood of the car, with 'Kaiah strapped in the backseat watchin'. He was- He was cryin' for her the whole time." With his jaw clenched tightly, Darius nuzzled his son's cheek, some of his tears falling onto the boy's face. Makaiah looked sadly up at his father, wiping away one of his tears with his little forefinger. He tilted his head to the side and, with a frown, stated, " _Malik'esi lebetimi, aba_. No cry, none." Darius laughed tearily at that, shaking his head and rubbing at his eyes.

"No more tears, buddy. _Bek'a_." He paused to give Makaiah a smile. "You're so good to me. _Fi'kirē, e’inē girumi liji._ " He whispered fondly to the boy, who returned the smile and said quietly, " _Inē aba fik’iri."_

Despite the tearful confession, Derek couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. The love between the father and son warmed his heart and made the burdens ever-present just a little bit lighter. With Makaiah in Darius’s arms, the man’s voice took on a softer tone. The boy’s childlike innocence seemed to quell his grief, his reassuring smile Darius’s own personal beacon of hope.

“No one would believe her, and I mean, how could they? A black immigrant tryna’ take down one of CPD’s finest? Forget about it. Even after she- after she killed herself.. They still didn’t believe her. Said she did the whole thing for attention. Yeah. Left behind a husband and an infant for attention. Guess they couldn’t accept their pig buddy was a fucking scumbag.” Darius clenched his jaw after the words tumbled out of his mouth. His eyes fluttered shut as he stroked Makaiah’s cheek with his thumb. The simple action had his breathing evening out and managed to drain all of the tension from his taut shoulders.

“Is this what she felt?” Darius whispered, opening his eyes to shoot a glance at Derek. The agent cocked his head to the side, taking a sharp breath when Darius said, “This.. Shame. The disgust. Like- Like you’re dirty. Tainted. Fuck, how am I supposed to live like this? Knowin’ that he- How do I forget?”

Derek wished he knew the answer.

* * *

It seemed as if the day had managed to fly by and drag on all at the same time. By the time Derek had trudged his way back to the hotel, he fully intended on climbing on top of a pair of fresh hotel sheets and crashing. His unofficial roommate, of course, had other plans. As he tossed aside his go-bag and removed his weapon from his holster, he padded over to the stairs stealthily in hopes of going unnoticed, but to no avail. The second he came within a foot of the spiral staircase, he heard Spencer’s soft voice call out, “Derek, wait.”

On command, Derek halted abruptly, blankly staring ahead before slowly turning to face Spencer with that same stoic expression. He watched as Spencer’s big brown eyes filled with woe and dismay, feeling a twinge of pain wrack his heart. He answered with a blasé “What?” though his voice cracked on the single syllable. The sound of Spencer’s disappointed sigh only heavied Derek’s heart further.

“We need to talk about what happened last night.” Spencer began apprehensively. Derek’s muscles tensed at the simple words, snippets of the prior evening flooding his mind. The timeline was blurry, but he remembered the essentials. He was with Anita, but then he wasn’t. His mind recovered fuzzy images of a spinning hallway. The feeling of the walls closing in on him at that moment were far less insistent than the feeling of hands claiming his body as their own. Then, suddenly, he was in the room, his thoughts garbled as his conscious mind screamed at him incessantly. The laptop appeared in his lap, and what felt like hours of anguish had passed by before he heard the door open over the sound of his younger self’s frightened whimpering. Spencer’s presence seemed to loosen the noose that had managed to slip around Derek’s neck, and the older man was desperate and utterly captivated. He was at Spencer’s side in an instant, his embrace like a magnet.

And then he kissed him. He climbed into Spencer's lap and kissed him. There was no denying that. There was no way to write it off as a fabricated memory, an incident existing only in reverie. Spencer’s lips had touched his. Their tongues had moved in synchronicity with one another, as if their mouths were the two final two missing puzzle pieces. Derek found himself yearning for that feeling once again, and yet he knew he couldn't. That deprivation began to drive him mad, the need for comfort and intimacy far greater than the ache of betrayal and the dreadfully heavy shame.

“Yeah, well, what can I say? I’m a slutty drunk. Didn't mean anything.” Derek tried to say nonchalantly. Spencer looked at him in disbelief, curls falling in his face as he shook his head. When his long, deft fingers moved to push the locks out of his eyes, Derek took in a sharp breath before pursing his lips, forcing himself to avert his gaze from the younger man.

“Bullshit.” Spencer said boldly. Derek’s head snapped up, his wide eyes watching as Spencer crossed his arms. The young man shifted his weight on his feet, squaring his shoulders as he jutted his hips forward in a stance of certainty and dominance.

“You can't do that with me. You can't act like- Like some emotionless asshole to get me to distance myself from you, because you're not. I know you, Derek. I see you.” Spencer said with conviction, taking a few steps towards Derek. Gauging the man’s response, he slowly began to inch closer until he was merely inches away from the man. Derek’s jaw was clenched tight, hands balled into fists at his aides as he stood stick straight. He tried to let the words escape his brain, but they remained as omnipresent as ever.

Derek wouldn't admit to the soft gasp he let out when he felt Spencer’s clammy hand cup his cheek. The way the other man cradled his face like something precious made tears well up in Derek’s eyes. Unfocused and bleary, those eyes landed on Spencer’s kind face, his sharp features simultaneously contrasting and complementing the fierce and determined, yet soft and concerned, look in his own eyes. Derek’s hand shook as he ever so slowly raised it up towards his face, examining it with intent before placing it unsteadily on top of Spencer’s. The latter gave a soft sigh of content at the simple action, and began to idly stroke his thumb over Derek’s high cheekbone, the older melting under the touch.

They stood like that for quite some time until Spencer began to stifle his yawns, earning an almost smile from Derek who leaned forward to rest his forehead against Spencer’s. After a few deep breaths, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

The two words seemed to shock Spencer, who retreated from Derek’s touch to show the man the confusion evident in his eyes. “You’ve done nothing wrong.” He said slowly, both hands now cupping Derek’s face. A warm, wet tear slid over Spencer’s knuckles, just as he heard Derek’s breath hitch. In an instant, Derek was enveloping Spencer into a bone crushing hug, one with intent that bordered on desperation.

That night, Derek found his dreams were vacant and peaceful for the first time in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ānidi met’ifo sewi newi?" - Is he a bad one? 
> 
> "Irisu sile inya yigodali yihoni?" - Will he hurt us? 
> 
> "Irisu melikami sewochi mekakeli ānidu newi." - He's one of the good ones. 
> 
> "Inyami ke’irisu gari āsitemamanyi kehonu." - We're safe with him. 
> 
> "Malik'esi yelebetimi, aba." - Don't cry, daddy. 
> 
> bek'a - none 
> 
> fik'irē - my love
> 
> ye’inē girumi liji - my wonderful son 
> 
> "Inē aba fik’iri." - I love you.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Every man is guilty of all the good he did not do.” Voltaire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late chapter! so, idk if you'll catch this, but i made some pretty heavy allusions to the episode 'P911'. the unsub in that episode is our possible suspect in this fic. i also used many of the names of the people in that case in this one. because of this, that case hasn't happened in this canon. hope that's not too confusing. 
> 
> also: i'm on tumblr now! you can find me at http://transgirlreid.tumblr.com/ id love to take requests for future fics!

Derek and Darius had managed to form quite the close rapport. The two men had continued to reveal tidbits of their pasts to one another over the following few days. Derek had taken the information and applied it to the case at hand, of course, but he also found himself acting as Darius’s confidante. It seemed as if Darius, despite them being roughly the same age, looked to Derek as an older brother, a protector. Together, they had recounted horrible details of the pain they'd endured. They both understood what trauma could do to men like them; this understanding was a luxury not many others could say they have. It would just be uncharacteristic had they not developed anything but a strong friendship. Despite this, Derek still felt nervous around Darius, like he was a ticking time bomb. Wrong words or movements set Darius off at the most inopportune times, causing not only himself great distress, but for Derek as well. Still, he expected nothing from the man, and gladly listened to anything he was courageously willing to share.

Like now, as Darius continued to pour his heart out to Derek, uttering the most words he had said in the past few days combined. It was clear that brevity was Darius’s defense mechanism. It had always been Derek’s as well. Only months ago when they last pursued a case pertaining to Buford had Derek revealed the very details of his abuse for the first time. Darius dealt with broad terms and vague allusions, the details he did share not usually of grave importance. It began to feel as if they were going nowhere fast - until Darius had mustered the courage to truly speak freely.

 “They keep getting more vivid. The nightmares. Are they really nightmares, though? They're like, flashbacks. Ain't that what you call ‘em?” Darius had begun hesitantly. He picked at the styrofoam cup in his hand that held his lukewarm coffee, eyes focusing on the caramel liquid. Derek gave him a sharp nod, telling him, “We use the term flashback to describe vivid re-encounters of the abuse. It's the first symptom of rape trauma syndrome, or PTSD.”

Darius’s eyes widened at Derek’s words, and his nails dug into the styrofoam with a squeak. “Rape?” He restated in disbelief. He shook his head adamantly at that, reaching up to push away the thin braids that had fallen into his face. “No. No, he didn't fuck me.” He said sharply, causing Derek to cringe at the cruelty that laced his words.

“And I thought only soldiers got PTSD? POW’s and shit. Not.. Guys like us.” He mumbled, continuing to busy his unsteady hands with picking apart the cup’s rim. Derek shook his head at that statement, refuting it vehemently.

“No, man, it’s not always like that. It happens to guys like us. It’s why you gotta talk about it.” He urged gently. Approaching the subject was always touch and go. Derek knew when not to push, but sometimes he toed the line, trying to get Darius to open up to him. He could never blame the man, of course. How long had it taken him to even utter Buford’s name like it wasn’t blasphemous?

“‘Told you I ain’t need that. It ain’t gonna change anythin’.” Darius retorted. He leaned back onto the couch, left arm stretched behind him as he downed the rest of the coffee. As Darius crushed the cup in his hand, drawing attention to his strong bicep, Derek felt like he was looking into a mirror.

“Then I wanna try something else.” Darius cocked his head at Derek’s confession, eyebrows pulled together in confusion. Derek shot the man a small, tight smile before he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. With a heavy sigh, he began, “You told me Buford took you for ice cream a lot.” Darius, with his eyebrows still knit together, shrugged helplessly and allowed Derek to continue.

“Sometimes, certain places can trigger memories we didn’t even realize we had. The sights, the smells - they bring you back.” Derek said with a sense of twisted nostalgia. He took a deep breath before he told Darius, “I want us to go back to that shop. You might remember something big that can really help us.”

When Darius’s back stiffened at the suggestion, Derek exhaled sharply. The request may have seemed so innocent to any bystander, but Derek knew the severity of it. He himself couldn’t set foot on the football field or inside the center, and he hadn’t seen the cabin since he was seventeen years old. Knowing he was going to have to take Darius back to a place where he had spent time with a man who stole such large pieces of him made Derek’s heart ache.

“I don’t- Man, no. No, I can’t do that.” Derek had been expecting that, but he couldn’t help the sigh that escaped his lips. Darius gave several shakes of the head before he scrubbed his hand roughly over his face. Derek could see the tears beginning to form and he cursed himself, guilt creeping up on him.

“I know how hard this is for you. Believe me, I know. But I also know what it’s like to heal. And once you take away the power those places, those memories, have, that’s when it can start. They don’t define you, Darius. It’s up to you to do that.” Derek said pleadingly.

For several long moments, the two men were consumed by a pregnant silence. Darius’s eyes had begun to dart nervously around the room as he wracked his mind for answers, all the while with Derek watching him intently. After palpable contemplation, Darius let out a huge breath as he murmured a simple, “Okay.”

A small, grateful smile appeared on Derek’s face at the words. He reached forward to clap Darius on the shoulder appreciatively as he rose to his feet. Darius soon followed suit, standing up on shaky legs to trail behind Derek. The agent reached for the handle of the interview room door before he froze. He turned on his heels to look at Darius, lip caught between his teeth. Darius, seemingly uncomfortable under the scrutiny, shifted his weight awkwardly on his feet before Derek spoke.

“It takes a lot of guts to do what you’re doing here, Darius. You’re a lot braver than you make yourself out to be.” Derek affirmed wholeheartedly. He could swear he saw Darius blush for a moment, uncomfortable with the praise yet still flourishing under it. The corner of his mouth quirked into a little smile Derek almost would’ve missed had he not been looking. Darius gave a nod and motioned for Derek to open the door. He complied wordlessly, letting Darius lead them out into the bullpen. His posture changed immediately under the heavy gazes of the surrounding officers, something Derek had grown accustomed to seeing.

The officers of the CPD treated Darius with anything but respect. The eyed him warily like he was a criminal, some of them even looking at him like he was dangerous. Then there were the ones who looked at him in disgust and disbelief, like they couldn’t believe he had the audacity to challenge them. Derek knew those looks all too well, having been on the receiving end of them from Gordinski, Dennison, and the entire squad, as an adult and as a child. He never stopped to think just how sad and unfair it was that he and Darius had become so used to facing adversity from the men and women who were meant to protect and serve them.

As Derek and Darius piled into Derek’s SUV, Derek listened intently as Darius barked out directions in a robotic, monotonous tone. Derek could see Darius beginning to dissociate as he became otherwise silent for the remainder of the drive. When he saw the cold, empty look in Darius’s eyes, the agent felt a pang of guilt within him. He felt as though he was re-traumatizing the man. He had walked victims through crime scenes and led them through cognitive interviews more times than he could count, and yet this time was different. He had never felt so guilty about doing so than at that very moment. The pair had become, in many ways, trauma bonded over the past few days, as brief as they were. Derek’s empathy was above and beyond what he knew was normal to feel towards a victim; yet, he still refused to call Darius a victim. He refused to be one, as well.

The shop was quaint and homely, with faded, vintage looking colors and graphics. It even gave Derek a sense of nostalgia. The sight reminded him of all he yearned for in a childhood. He supposed Darius felt the same, yet now a place that was once a pillar of innocence was tainted. Darius was holding his breath as he assessed the building, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously each time his eyes roamed over the benches that sat out front. When his eyes finally landed on a bench slightly obscured from the view of the shop and its patrons, Derek knew what the other man was going to say before the words even left his mouth.

“There. We sat there.” He said in a wavering voice, nodding his head in the direction of the bench he couldn’t take his eyes off of. Derek nodded slowly in understanding and killed the engine, pocketing his keys. Leaning back in the driver’s seat, Derek allowed Darius a long moment of silence before he asked, “You ready?”

A curt nod from Darius signified his approval and the two men promptly exited the car. Darius stood still for a moment, simply staring, before he shook his head and began to approach the bench with trepidation. His long, nimble fingers shook as he traced along the dark wood of the splintering table. After exhaling shakily, he slowly sunk down to sit on the bench, looking almost comical with as his large frame contrasted with the small seat. Derek plopped down next to the other man, huffing out a small laugh as the bench squeaked under their combined weight. He let Darius begin at his own pace, not uttering a single word, simply opting to silently encourage the man with affirming glances.

“Second time we was here, I think, he put his hand on my thigh, under the table so no one could see. I tried to shrug him off but he just gripped me harder. It got tighter and tighter, went up higher and higher, that by the time I finished the damn cone he was practically grabbin’ my junk.” Darius confessed. His eyes were trained on the image of a child eating an ice cream that was painted on the sign that hung above the door of the shop. He chewed on the inside of his cheek before he told Derek, “He had parked behind that tree over there, and when we got back to the car, he, ah- He had his hands, uh, down the- down the front of my pants.”

Derek immediately felt rage bubble beneath his skin at Darius’s words. Carl had not only managed to get away with ruining the lives of over fifty boys, but had molested one- or possibly more - out in the open, with dozens of possible witnesses, and still had gotten away with it. That idea made Derek's blood boil. He thought of Darius, of every boy Carl ever laid his hands on, looking to bystanders in utter desperation, silently begging for them to come save them. Yet, no one had even bothered to notice the signs, to see that haunted look in their eyes. They had abandoned them in their utmost time of need, and Derek knew those boys, those men, would never forgive the people who failed to save them.

“Can I get you two fellas anything?” A man’s voice snapped both Darius and Derek from their reverie. Darius began to eye the man suspiciously. Derek was momentarily oblivious as he had begun to politely decline, but Darius cut his sentence short.

“I ‘member you.” He told the man. His eyes flickered over to Derek for a split second before he trained them back onto the man. Under Darius’s intense gaze, the man frowned, his head cocked to the side in confusion.

“I’m sorry, son, I’m afraid I don’t remember you.” He revealed, earning a head shake from Darius. The other man stated, “I used to- I came here when I was a kid. You was always workin’ here.” The man smiled fondly at that before he took a seat beside Darius.

“My apologies. I’ve been here for forty years, son. Sometimes these faces all blur together.” He joked, managing to garner a couple chuckles from Derek and Darius. Derek cleared his throat before he took on that solemn look once again. He reached for his credentials, flashing them at the man as he asked, “We’d actually like to ask you a few questions about that.” The man’s eyes widened slightly, but he nodded nonetheless.

Derek reached for his phone, opening up a photo, then sliding it towards the man. “Do you remember ever seeing this man here?” The man considered the photo for a moment. Just as he was about to say the word “no”, though, something changed in his expression.

“Yes, actually. He was here quite a lot with his son, I believe.” He told the agent, whose eyes shifted over to Darius at the vague allusion to him. He had averted his eyes to the ground, staring intently at the barren patches of grass. Derek gave a hefty sigh before he asked, “Did you ever see him interacting with any other men? Some more than usual?” The man smiled easily at that, nodding his head.

“Oh, yes, yes, I do. Fine fella and his little boy. They came here together more often than not. I always thought there was something more to them than what met the eye.” He chuckled softly and shook his head. Derek, visibly intrigued and hopeful, leaned in and asked, “Do you remember his name?” The man chewed on his lip for a moment in thought before he nodded slowly.

“I believe I do. Michael, possibly. I know his little boy was Charlie.” Derek let out a breath of relief. He was grateful for whatever he could get. He asked, “Could you describe him?” Once again, the man nodded.

“Sure. He was a white fella, always wore nice, neat clothes. Same for his boy. Brown hair and eyes. An average Joe.” He explained, then paused and asked, “What’s this about, anyhow?” Derek sighed softly at the question, thrumming his fingers on the bench as he searched for an answer.

“We believe this man is involved in the distribution and production of child pornography.” The agent said clinically. With wide eyes, the man gave a quiet gasp. He then shook his head in disgust, saying, “Those poor children. If there’s anything at all I can do, let me know.” He offered genuinely. Derek shot him a polite smile before he stood to shake the man’s hand.

“Thank you, sir. If I could just get your information, that would be great.” Derek asked, the man nodding compliantly. Derek reached into his pocket to retreat a pen and one of his business cards. The man accepted them and jotted down his name and contact information, all while Derek’s eyes wandered over to Darius. The man’s physical body was there, but Darius himself was not. His eyes were completely vacant, void of any glimmer of hope, any twinges of pain, any feelings of shame. He was utterly empty, and Derek felt his heart crack at the sight.

“I- Thank you, Mr. Rawlings. I’ll be in touch.” Derek stated before he said his goodbyes to the man. He had to nudge Darius to get him to stand. The man did so with robotic, jerky movements, as if he was running on autopilot. Derek directed him back towards the car, where he opened the door for him. He climbed into the seat beside him, looking down at the steering wheel in silence for some time. Finally, he looked to Darius, who was simply staring out of the window, and told him, “You did a good thing today, Darius.”

The man only grunted in response, the simple sound like a wave of guilt crashing over Derek.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “There is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us. It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.” Oscar Wilde


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sort of a filler chapter, but a bittersweet (more emphasis on the sweet) one at that. things are about to pick up speed now y'all. warnings for this chapter include self harm and 'gore' (descriptions of derek's wounds). stay safe. 'til next time!

Spencer entered the hotel room with Derek later that night in a mutual silence. The younger agent didn't protest as Derek mumbled his goodnight’s, heading directly for the spiral staircase. Spencer found himself staring wishfully at the older man as he trudged up the stairs on heavy feet. He was reminded of their first night together, how Derek had refused to even look at his fellow agent. His actions mirrored those of that night, and yet there was still a palpable difference between the two scenarios. Spencer saw how Derek’s walls began to crack, the dam in his mind threatening to burst. The floodgates were ready to open, for which Spencer was almost thankful for. The appreciation he had for Derek’s courage and strength through his trials knew no bounds.

He knew Derek needed time, however. The man had been wounded by those he trusted so many times, yet it was obvious Spencer’s betrayal cut the deepest. Spencer wasn't sure if he'd ever be truly forgiven, if the accepted apologies were just means of putting a bandaid over a bullet hole. He silently yearned for the way things once were, but at the same time was thankful that they weren't. Paradoxically, they had never been this close. Derek had confided in Spencer more times than either could count, but never with the degree of closeness that they had shared a few nights prior. It had felt so intimate, something almost sacred, being able to care for Derek and shoulder the burden of his pain. Spencer tried desperately not to yearn for that same intimacy, but every time he looked to Derek, it was all he could hope for.

Much to his dismay, Spencer laid down on the couch that night, completely restless and unable to sleep. For a good half hour, all he could do was writhe and shift uncomfortably on the stiff, makeshift bed. He memorized every microscopic line on the ceiling, and compartmentalized each piece of lint on his pajamas. Needless to say, he was having a blast. Every time he closed his eyes, everything just felt off, like something was missing. His bones felt hollow ( _“That’s because a bone is composed of a diaphysis that resembles a hollow cylinder, Reid._ ”) and his heart threatened to burst with the weight of it all.

It took Spencer nearly three hours to finally drift into a state of semi consciousness. He was floating, toeing the line between sleep and reality. Just as he was about to succumb, he heard rustling coming from above him. He tried to will himself to open his eyes, but exhaustion had already overcome him. He settled back into the couch, trying to physically melt into it. Still, something felt off. He felt eyes on him, and he just couldn’t shake it off as a nightmare. Slowly, his eyelids fluttered open, and he nearly fell off the couch when he saw a large, dark figure looming over him. His hand flopped around for his weapon on the bedside table, only to release it when he heard the figure speak.

“Jesus, man, it’s me!” Derek hissed out. Spencer moved to sit up, eyes squinting as he flicked on the light. He was immediately met with Derek’s disheveled state. He let out a sigh, partially out of relief, and reached up to rub at his bleary eyes.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to sneak up on an armed man?” He grunted as he allowed his eyes to adjust to the light. He heard Derek breathe out a quiet chuckle, but other than that, the room was plunged into a sudden silence. After Spencer blinked a few times, he chanced a glance up at Derek, when he quietly gasped. Despite the shadows Spencer’s form cast over Derek, and the fact that the other man had his arms - almost timidly - crossed over his chest, Spencer could still see he was standing in nothing but his boxers. Immediately, Spencer diverted his gaze, mumbling his apologies as he covered his eyes and flushed red.

He could hear Derek’s breathing beginning to speed up, and he quietly cursed himself for providing fodder for Derek’s anxiety. As far as he could tell, though, Derek made no effort to cover himself. Instead, he let his hands fall to his sides, and, after a long, taut silence, asked, “Look at me.”

Spencer wasn’t sure if he even heard the command correctly, but knew there was no use denying it. His hand slowly fell from his face to unshield his eyes, still screwed shut tightly out of embarrassment. He could hear the desperation in Derek’s voice, though. He let his eyes flutter open, and took in the sight before him.

Derek’s lean body was illuminated by the incandescent light that shone from the bedside lamp. His eyes were fixated on Spencer’s, burning straight through him to his very being. Spencer was captivated and utterly enthralled by the obscure mixture of pure trust and that of outright terror present in those eyes. There were tears in Derek’s wide, brown orbs, threatening to spill at any moment. He was holding his breath,  standing deathly still as he watched Spencer’s own trusting, intrigued, yet simultaneously fearful, eyes begin to trail tantalizingly slowly down his upper body.

Spencer stared in awe of Derek, not nearly as impressed with his physical body as he was with his courage. Laying himself physically bare in front of Spencer was the utmost show of trust, something Spencer thought he’d never garner from the man again. Spencer’s eyes traveled across the expanse of Derek’s smooth skin, settling on the large tattoo that covered his bicep. He studied the intricate details of the ink that beautifully came together to form a lion.

“The lion symbolizes strength, courage and leadership.” Spencer began to say. He reached up slowly, fingertips brushing over the ink. “ _The roar is considered as one of voices of the Goddess. A lion's roar stops you; it is a terror that shakes you up and draws you into something beautiful_.” The young man’s eyes fixated on Derek’s, now wet and shiny. His lip quivered but he dared not to break his gaze from Spencer. The latter began to slowly trail his hand down Derek’s arm, the pads of his fingers smoothing over the pulse points in the crook of his elbow and wrist. The rhythmic pulsating caused Spencer’s eyes to flutter shut for a moment as he simply relished in the feeling of Derek under his touch. When he opened his eyes, Spencer saw Derek’s cheeks were wet and stained. He shook his head simply at that before he took Derek’s hand and raised his arm. He pressed a hesitant kiss to all the points he had previously touched, encouraged by Derek’s soft, content sigh. His eyes traveled farther downwards, until he froze in place and looked up to Derek with fresh tears in his eyes. For the first time, Derek squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to look at Spencer.

The wounds were still fresh. Some had begun to scab, while others remained open and visibly infected. They were gruesome, the bloody, bumpy fat that lay underneath the skin now revealed. Spencer’s hands stilled their descent as well, freezing on Derek’s arms. The gory and morbid sight of the wounds was far less grotesque and heart wrenching than the idea of how they got there.

“It hurts.” Spencer heard Derek croak out. He quickly snapped his head up to look at the older man, the agony clear on his face.

“We need to clean these, they need to be bandaged, and-” Spencer began to ramble, but Derek just shook his head vehemently.

“It _hurts_.” He emphasized, eyes pleading as he looked to Spencer. The younger felt his heart shatter, the lost look in Derek’s eyes and the raw pain in his voice pushing him over the edge. He pulled Derek down as gently as he could, enveloping him in a warm embrace. In that moment, Spencer allowed himself to shed a few tears. He sobbed quietly alongside Derek, who, for the first time in a long time, allowed himself to truly feel the weight of everything. With each tear shed, it was like one worry, one painful memory, one insecurity, flowed out as well. They landed onto the rough material of the hotel blanket, absorbed into the fibers to simply never be seen or felt again.

As Spencer thumbed away the droplets on Derek’s face, he heard the latter whisper, “I don’t think I’ll ever be the same.”

Spencer shuffled around a bit to sit up, Derek cradled to his chest with his head propped up on his shoulder. He ran his hand down Derek’s back, cataloging each knob of his spine as he spoke, “No, you won’t.” With his free hand, Spencer tilted Derek’s head upwards to look him in the eye while he told him with conviction, “You’ll be stronger.”  

The kiss was infinitely different than the one just nights prior. It began with the two of them leaning in simultaneously, both with their own forms of trepidation. Their hands found their way to one another, fingers lacing together as their free hands moved to touch the other’s face. When their lips brushed against each other, they did so chastely and innocently. The fervency and desperation from before had melted away, being replaced with languidity. They kissed like each was afraid the other was going to break beneath their ministrations, cradling each other like something delicate and precious.

Even as the kiss ended, Spencer and Derek remained with their foreheads pressed together, close enough to share the same breath. They both drifted into sleep shortly thereafter, hands still intertwined in their laps.

 

* * *

   
Several doors down from the sleeping pair laid a certain Penelope Garcia, also consumed by exhaustion. Her reprieve was only momentary, though, as it always was in her line of work. The laptop that sat on the desk before her bed continued to chirp incessantly, rousing her from her much needed beauty rest. With an irritated grumble, she shuffled over to the computer. The moment she opened the screen to investigate, any trace of exhaustion escaped her. She barely had any time to process what she was seeing before she was hurrying down the hall towards her superior’s room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “We think there are limits to the dimensions of fear. Until we encounter the unknown. Then we can all feel boundless amounts of terror.” Peter Høeg


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I get up and pace the room, as if I can leave my guilt behind me. But it tracks me as I walk, an ugly shadow made by myself.” Rosamund Lupton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oh. rocky roads incoming. so sorry for the late update, ive had a lot going on! i hope you enjoy this chapter, and ill try to get the next one up quicker. translations for amharic dialogue will be given at the end (there's a lot of them - beware)
> 
> follow me on The Tumblr for future updates!   
> transgirlreid.tumblr.com

“‘Carpe Diem.’ When’d you get this one?” Spencer’s fingers danced along the smooth expanse of Derek’s back as he questioned, awe apparent in his voice. Derek huffed out a quiet laugh, the soft, hesitant movements of Spencer’s fingers tickling his skin.

“Mm. I was 36. I was so nervous my guy was gonna fuck up the face.” He replied with a soft sigh as Spencer began to knead the muscles beneath the ink. His stroked across the face of Malcolm X, embedded in the “C”, and shook his head.

“No, it looks wonderful. The others do, too.” Spencer hummed, fingers moving to touch the faces of Barack Obama and Martin Luther King Jr.

“I really wanted to do them justice. You know?” Derek said. He wiggled a bit so he could lay fully down on his stomach. He rested his head on his crossed arms, letting Spencer continue to explore.

“‘Freedom’.” Spencer whispered after swallowing thickly. His fingers hovered just above Derek’s lower back where the word was written proudly in calligraphic capital letters. Beneath him, Derek shifted just slightly so his hips arched up, the dip of his back colliding gently with Spencer’s hesitant fingers.

“College. Right after my knee.” He explained concisely. Spencer nodded in understanding, leaving it at that. Derek heard him suck in a sharp breath before he felt his lips press against the kiss, earning a gasp from the older man. Spencer stilled, but Derek relaxed under the touch, silently encouraging Spencer.

As Spencer continued to press kisses along his back, Derek said, “Football, it- It was a lifeline. A safety net. It wasn’t ever what I wanted to do. It was just what saved me. From Chicago, from my record, and from-” He shook his head at the thought, giving a content sigh as Spencer nuzzled the dimples in his back with his nose. The younger man’s pale hand slid from Derek’s hip down the back of his thigh before it landed on his calf.

“And this one?” He inquired as he examined the image of a moon and sun embedded inside a circle, a spin on the traditional yin-yang.

“That one I got in ‘98. I was-” Derek began to reveal, only to be cut off by the sound of his phone ringing, Spencer’s following along short after. He chanced a glance over his shoulder at the younger man, who seemed just as confused as he did. He climbed off of Derek, standing alongside him to reach for his own phone. An ambiguous, ominous text from Hotch illuminated both of their screens.

“ _My room ASAP. 224_.” Both men stiffened as they read the words, sharing a look with one another before they both gulped helplessly and began to dress. A glance cast at the clock alerted them that it was midnight already. As they went through the motions of dressing, dread settled in the pits of their stomachs, unwilling to release it’s suffocating grip.

The two men made the short trip down the hallway until they stood before Hotch’s door. They both raised their hands to knock, but hesitated and looked to the other for guidance. Spencer offered Derek a weak nod, the other man returning it sharply. Just as Derek was about to proceed to knock, though, it abruptly opened. Before them stood a very disgruntled Aaron Hotchner, the ever present lines on his face deepening as he donned a prominent grimace. He stepped aside to allow the two agents inside, where they were met with the faces of their teammates, all clad in their pajamas.

“Darius Parker is missing.” Hotch blurted out immediately. He held his breath as he watched Derek with intent. His subordinate immediately stiffened, eyes going wide in horror before they filled with fury.

“How?” He bit out, nails digging into his palms as he clenched his fists. Wordlessly, Penelope made her presence known by turning her laptop to face Derek and Spencer. On the screen was the site they had all grown too familiar with, yet a new photo appeared amongst the dozens of videos. It was of much better quality than the old videos, yet still grainy, making it hard to recognize details. What the team could see, though, was Darius Parker’s half-dressed body duct taped to a rickety old chair in what appeared to be a cellar. It was obvious the man was unconscious, but no one could miss the fear he harbored. The image made Derek’s blood run cold, only one thought racing through his mind.

“We’ve notified the CPD. They’re on their way to his residence as we speak, but-” Hotch began, but Derek began to vehemently shake his head.

“Makaiah,” he said, “His boy. He doesn’t trust cops, he doesn’t know them. We're going. _I’m_ going.” Derek concluded with conviction, not allowing his superior to get a word in before he was jogging down the hall. The other agents stood in stunned silence, all sharing glances with one another as their Unit Chief stared downwards in obvious contemplation. Heading towards the door, Hotch cast a final glance to his team, giving them a nod and a stern look right as he exited to follow close behind Derek.

* * *

The ride to Darius’s home was ten times more nerve wracking to Derek than it had originally been just days prior, but that was a given. The worst case scenarios ran through his mind at lightning speed, so vivid and terrifying that he could barely see past the fog they cast over his vision. He had to force himself to stay above the murky waters as he sped through the residential area. The sounds of sirens garnered the attention of several concerned citizens, yet Derek could barely hear them over the sound of his heart beating in his ears.

He pulled the SUV up onto the curb, immediately jumping out with his weapon already drawn. Marked police cars were parked around Darius’s home, the door already flown open. Paying no mind to the looks being thrown at him, Derek rushed in through the door, his team trailing close behind. He heard vaguely Hotch discussing something with Gordinski, but couldn't have cared less about their antics.

Once inside, Derek immediately heard yelling coming from down the hall. He registered the voices as belonging to Denison and another rookie detective he’d run into the day prior, and the very implication of their presence caused anxiety to begin to stir in his stomach. He followed the voices down the hall, coming to a halt in front of an open bedroom. It was obviously a child’s room, if the toys scattered around the floor and posters of Disney characters were any indication. Derek pushed his way into the bedroom, where he found Denison and the rookie cop. The former was crouched down in front of the closet, while the latter had his gun drawn and pointed at it.

“Kid, come on, get outta there.” Denison was pleading, sounding exasperated and obviously irritated. When Derek craned his neck just slightly to get a look into the closet, he saw red as he turned to the rookie and shoved him.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” He yelled, causing the kid and Denison to jump out of their skin. He could hear Makaiah yelp at the sound of his raised voice.

“You don’t point a fucking gun at a five year old!” Derek hissed, astounded by the sheer ignorance of the rookie.

“Calm down, we were just trying to get him to come out. He won’t let anybody touch him.” Denison tried to mediate, but Derek just scoffed.

“He doesn’t speak English! He’s scared to death, you fucking moron!” The agent chastised. Denison opened his mouth to protest, but Derek ignored him in order to address Makaiah.

“Hey, little man,” He said, voice taking on a completely different tone, “You remember me? I’m friends with your daddy.” He squatted down in front of the closet, looking to the boy hopefully. Makaiah stared at Derek with dubious, fearful eyes that continued to dart between the agent and the other two officers.

_“_ _Ke’inerisu hīdi ādirigi.”_ He told Derek in a small, pleading voice. Derek could only stare, at a complete loss for words. From behind him, he heard the door creak open as someone entered. He paid no mind to the presence, certain by the reactions of the officers in the room that it was his superior. He was thoroughly surprised, however, when he heard Spencer’s voice - and even more surprised when he heard what he had to say.

_“Inezīhi āhuni tito newi.”_ The younger agent said with ease. His accent was a bit stiff, but he got his point across to Makaiah just fine. The boy looked up at him hesitantly and questioningly, earning an encouraging nod from Spencer.

“He wants you to leave. Now.” Spencer said pointedly to the two officers. They dared not to protest, the rookie practically shaking in his boots at the sound of the edge in Spencer’s stern voice. They exited in silence, leaving the two agents alone with the boy.

“ _Hēyi, gwadenyachinini. Nenyi_ Spencer.” Spencer introduced. When the boy didn’t respond, the agent’s lips twitched into a frown.

_“Lemini yiwet’alu āyidelemi?”_ Spencer asked of Makaiah, ignoring the stunned look from Derek. The boy looked between the two, only moving to stand up when Spencer added, _“Manimi sewi yemīgodachihumi.”_ Immediately after Makaiah was standing, he launched himself at Spencer, wrapping his arms around the agent’s legs. Both Spencer and Derek looked down at him in awe and shock, the younger agent moving to pat the boy’s head awkwardly.

_“Ānišitachihu?_ Up?” Makaiah requested. Spencer nodded and lifted the boy in his arms with ease. He turned to Derek and nodded once again before the other man managed to clamber back to his feet and exit the bedroom. Spencer trailed behind him, whispering incomprehensible words to Makaiah, who hid his face in Spencer’s neck. His grip on Makaiah was paternal and protective, the glares he shot the onlookers conveying the same message.

The two agents pushed through the chaos and headed straight towards the SUV, where their fellow teammates were loitering. Amongst them was Gordinski, who appeared to be in a heated argument with Hotch. It was also apparent, however, that he was losing whatever debate was transpiring. Neither agent could make out the words even as they grew closer and closer, but Hotch said something that had Gordinski backpedaling. The captain stood silent as Hotch stared him down with his infamous unblinking glare, then promptly turned on his heels. He sputtered a bit when he saw Spencer and Derek, but chose not to comment, as was in his best interest.

“Makaiah, _āhuni izīhi mewit’ati yihēdalu. Ishī?_ ” Spencer said to Makaiah, who nodded and repeated, “ _Ishī_.” Spencer offered the boy a smile before he turned to his team.

Derek was looking to his superior with narrowed eyes as he questioned, “What was that about?” He jerked his thumb over towards Gordinski, not paying any mind to the scowl the man shot him.

“Captain Gordinski just needed a friendly little reminder that the FBI doesn’t take kindly to racism, is all.” Hotch replied simply in his usual dry tone. He managed to earn several small grins from his team with the comment, he himself donning a minuscule smirk. He sobered his expression before he turned to Spencer and Makaiah, mouth pulling into a frown at the sight of the frightened boy.

“We’re going to need to take him to the station, and I’m not letting him ride with Denison and Baker.” Hotch said just as the two officers emerged from the house. They glowered as they kept their heads down, gazes averted from the group of agents.  

“There’s a car seat by the door.” Blake piped up, tilting her head towards the house. Hotch gave her a stiff nod and she retreated back inside.

As Spencer readjusted Makaiah on his hip, the boy leaned up to ask apprehensively, “ _Inesu mani nachewi_?” The remaining agents narrowed their eyes and cocked their heads, waiting for a translation.

“These are my friends.” Spencer said, using English for the benefit of his teammates. He then translated, “ _Inezīhi wedajochē nachihu._ ” He pointed to each of the agents, introducing them all to the boy. They all offered warm smiles, none of which were returned as Makaiah burrowed further into Spencer.

Once Blake had gotten the car seat all hooked up in the back of the SUV, Spencer managed to pry Makaiah off of his body to place the boy inside it. He decided to stay in the backseat with Makaiah while Derek and Blake rode in the front, Rossi, JJ, and Hotch all following behind in the other car. He kept the boy entertained, as it seemed to the others present. Despite the fact that it was obvious that Spencer was as terrified as the others, Derek couldn’t help but smile just slightly at how natural he was with Makaiah. He had even managed to get the boy to laugh at some joke none of the others could decode. The boy’s innocence offered as somewhat of an incentive to Derek. He couldn’t let his father by taken from him; he wouldn’t let the world turn him cold.

Ushering Makaiah out of the SUV was a hassle in itself, but getting him into the station was even more difficult. He seemed even more nervous and agitated than he had been when he had come in with his father, understandably so. He wouldn’t let Spencer release him even in the slightest bit, clinging to the agent like his life depended on it - in some ways, it almost did.

Derek and Spencer tackled questioning Makaiah as a team. Spencer was able to translate for both Derek and Makaiah, putting the boy’s words into English and Derek’s into Amharic easily and fluently. Derek was shocked at the man’s efficiency, but, knowing Spencer, he had probably begun learning the language the minute they met Darius and Makaiah. The mere thought of Darius had Derek clenching his jaw. He felt solely responsible for the situation, knowing fully well that nothing would’ve happened to Darius had Derek left him out of the investigation. His involvement seemed to do more harm than good in his eyes. Buried under the endless darkness, Derek could no longer see what they were really fighting for in the first place.

“Do you know where your father went? _Ābatihi wet’a keyeti inidehone tawik’alehi?”_ Spencer’s voice registered vaguely in Derek’s mind, drawing him back to the present. Makaiah looked up at the agent and shook his head.

“ _Sewiyewimi met’ito inerisumi hēdu._ ” He told Spencer, who frowned deeply but nodded nonetheless.

He turned to Derek and sighed, translating, “He said the bad man came and they went away.” Derek exhaled sharply at the words, directing his gaze to Makaiah.

“Who’s the bad man, buddy? What does he look like?” He asked, Spencer promptly translating. Makaiah’s eyes grew even more fearful at the words and he began to shake his head with intent. Spencer placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder in encouragement, giving it a gentle squeeze as he nodded his approval.

Makaiah considered the words for a few moments, chewing on his lip in contemplation before he revealed to Spencer, “ _Bunama inēni inide, irisuni gini inide ārogē āyidelemi.”_ Derek looked to Spencer expectantly as the words left Makaiah’s mouth.

“Young and black.” Spencer explained concisely. He turned back to Makaiah and asked, “Does the bad man have a name? _Met’ifo sewi simi ālewi?”_   When Makaiah only shook his head, both agents let out heavy sighs.

“Where did they go? _Kezami yeti hēdu?_ ” Makaiah could only shrug in response, his ignorance on the matter apparent. Spencer still smiled politely down at the boy, continuing to rub his shoulder. They were soon engaged in a casual conversation, Spencer evidently attempting to gain more information, but his attempts seemed to be futile. As Derek watched the two talk, he caught sight of a figure approaching out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head just in time to see the door to the interview room open, revealing an unfamiliar face. He was just about demand the man leave, when Makaiah sprung to his feet and rushed towards the man.

“ _Āyatē!_ ” He exclaimed, launching himself into the man’s waiting arms. Spencer looked at them curiously, turning to a bewildered Derek and mouthing, “Grandpa?” Derek’s eyes widened a bit and he froze in his seat, unable to take his eyes off of the man. He hadn’t known how he didn’t see it before, but the man shared a striking resemblance to Carl. They had very similar facial structures, and even their mannerisms matched up. Regardless of their obvious differences, like age and weight, the similarities were enough to cause Derek to tremble.

“Mr. Bu- Mr. Parker?” Spencer asked with trepidation. He slowly rose to his feet, staring at Kendrick skeptically. As the man lifted Makaiah into his arms, he began to speak to him in broken Amharic, some of which, even if Derek had been able to comprehend the language, was completely obscure. Spencer, however, seemed to be decoding the conversation just fine, if his narrowed eyes and parted lips were any indication.

_“Ke’inerisu gari menegageri āyichilimi.”_ Kendrick said to Makaiah in a chastising tone. The boy gulped and looked down at the carpet, growing fidgety and nervous.

_“Inerisu gini magezi inifeligaleni.”_ Makaiah replied with a hint of desperation. Kendrick opened his mouth to protest, but Spencer silenced him.

“He’s right, Mr. Parker. All we’re trying to do here is help.” He said in a level voice. Kendrick simply shook his head, pulling Makaiah tighter towards his body. The boy whined in protest, but Kendrick paid no mind to him.

“This is what you call “helping”? I get a call at one in the mornin’ tellin’ me my son is missin’ and the FBI has my grandson, and all y’all got to say is you’re “helping”? If you were helpin’, my boy wouldn’t be out there right now with God knows who having God knows what done to him!” Kendrick spat at Spencer, stepping dangerously close to him. His posture set warning bells off in Derek’s head, and soon the older agent was wedging himself between the two. He began to talk Kendrick down, but the older man wouldn’t let him get a word in.

“And you. You’re the reason he’s in this mess. You couldn’t have left it alone? You got what you wanted! You got your endin’! My brother’s dead! I am sorry what he did to you and them other boys - my own son-” Kendrick shook his head violently at the thought, “But that don’t give you the right to ruin everybody else’s life! You dug up all these skeletons and for what? There ain’t no point in this! All you done is put my son in danger!” He reached forward to shove at Derek’s shoulder, but Makaiah’s whimper derailed him. He looked down to where the boy had his face hidden in his shirt, setting his jaw when he felt it dampen with tears.

“You better pray you get Darius home.” Kendrick concluded with a threatening tone. Just as abruptly as he had showed up, he disappeared out into the bullpen and stomped out of the station with Makaiah.

Kendrick’s words hung like a heavy fog in the room, continuing to echo in both agents’ heads. The venom in the man’s words began to seep into Derek’s veins, his threats wrapping around Derek’s throat and choking the life out of him. Over and over he replayed them, plagued by single blurry image of Darius tied to that chair. The guilt he felt drowned out any other feeling, physical or otherwise. He was so consumed by shame and remorse that even Spencer’s insistent voice couldn’t bring him out of his head.

“This isn’t your fault.” He was pleading, but Derek only shook his head.

“All of this is my fault.” He growled hoarsely. When Spencer reached for his shoulder, Derek roughly pushed the younger agent away, ignoring the soft yelp he gave. He said nothing as stormed out of the interview room, Spencer frozen in place with shock. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Ke’inerisu hīdi ādirigi.” - Make them go away. 
> 
> “Inezīhi āhuni tito newi.” - They’re leaving now.
> 
> “Hēyi, gwadenyachinini.” - Hey, buddy. 
> 
> “Lemini yiwet’alu āyidelemi?” - Why don’t you come out? 
> 
> “Manimi sewi yemīgodachihumi.” - No one will hurt you. 
> 
> “Ānišitachihu?” - Pick me up?
> 
> “[Makaiah] āhuni izīhi mewit’ati yihēdalu.” - We’re going to leave here now. 
> 
> ishī - okay 
> 
> “Inesu mani nachewi?” - Who are they?
> 
> “Inezīhi wedajochē nachihu.” - These are my friends. 
> 
> “Ābatihi wet’a keyeti inidehone tawik’alehi?” - Do you know where your father went?
> 
> “Sewiyewimi met’ito inerisumi hēdu.” - The bad man came and they went away. 
> 
> “Bunama inēni inide, irisuni gini inide ārogē āyidelemi.” - Brown like me, but not old like him.
> 
> “Met’ifo sewi simi ālewi?” - Does the bad man have a name? 
> 
> “Kezami yeti hēdu?” - Where did they go? 
> 
> āyatē - grandfather 
> 
> “Ke’inerisu gari menegageri āyichilimi.” - You can’t talk to them. 
> 
> “Inerisu gini magezi inifeligaleni.” - But they want to help.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Anybody can become angry — that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way — that is not within everybody's power and is not easy.” Aristotle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, sorry. its 2:00 am rn and im a little delirious n listening to meek mill so im not sure how good this is lol. im trying to get my schedule back in order, but im probably the most disorganized person in the world. sorry y'all. 
> 
> warnings for this chapter include racism and racial slurs (sorta. it's implied.) and victim blaming towards sexual assault survivors. this dialogue in no way reflects my person opinions on the matter.

Derek continued to pour over the minimal information the team had gathered on Darius. Leafing through the man’s life when he considered Darius a personal friend made Derek's stomach feel uneasy. Every new piece of information he stored away in his mind felt like - and was - an invasion of Darius’s privacy. After being physically violated all those years ago, he was once again subject to the disregard of the most confidential aspects of his very being. 

As Derek started onto another piece of paper, this one containing the names and addresses of all of Darius’s known associates and friends, he had to resist the urge to crumple up the damn thing and chuck it across the room. He knew his ever increasing irritation was not helping in the slightest, and wasn’t sure if he could attribute it entirely to the stress and emotional turmoil the case inflicted. He had yet to sleep since Hotch had called them to his room the night prior. If Derek was being honest, though, he knew even if given the chance to close his eyes just for a second, he would most definitely pass on the opportunity. He could sleep when Darius was home safe, with his son and father. 

With that, Derek once again decided another cup of coffee was another. He pushed away from the table, glaring petulantly at the papers sprawled out across it. He headed to the stuffy break room of the PD with an obvious lack of enthusiasm. His feet felt like lead as he trudged over to the coffee pot. It was barely warm, and most definitely not fresh, but as long as it had caffeine, Derek could care less. He opted to dump an inordinate amount of sugar into the cup, all in classic Spencer Reid style. He forced himself to become stolid after the thought of the man caused his lips to twitch into a small grin. 

As Derek sipped on the coffee, conveniently ignoring the bitter taste and sludge-like texture, he heard approaching voices and footsteps. He was fully prepared to give the oncomers the cold shoulder, but that plan went out of the window when he caught wind of their conversation.

“I just don’t trust him. Hell, I still don’t even think he’s innocent.” The voice of Denison said from just outside of the break room. 

“What, you think he killed those kids?” Baker implored with a sense of wonder. 

“I don’t know. I just don’t believe him. I don’t think he would’ve let that stuff with Buford go on so long without saying anything if he wasn’t an active participant. It just doesn’t make sense.” Denison replied, then added, “Before all this video stuff, I didn’t even think Buford ever touched him. But I still don’t think it went down how he said it did. I mean, you’ve seen them. He doesn’t put up a fight. He doesn’t even say ‘stop’, and he sure as hell seems to be liking it. I’m not saying Buford’s a good guy, but Derek Morgan is no angel, either.” 

Baker seemed to consider that for a moment before he added, “So, what about the other guy? Do you think it’s true?” Derek could barely hear Denison’s scoff and humorless laugh over his own heavy breathing. 

“Lemme tell you something, kid. Darius Parker is trouble. Nothing but. You were just a traffic cop when it happened, but he made up this wild story, all to get his wife out of a parking ticket. He told everyone Newton raped his wife. Yeah, bullshit. She came onto him. What was he supposed to do? And, to be honest, she was hot for a black girl. You can’t expect a guy to just ignore a girl like that. It might’ve been a mistake, but no way was that rape. You can’t rape the willing.” Denison replied with conviction. 

As Derek’s hands began to shake violently, the tepid liquid in the cup he held dribbled over the rim and spilled down onto his arms and the table. His mind could barely process the feeling, too transfixed on the conversation being held just beyond the door before him. 

“Why do they lie about this stuff, though? What’s the point?” Baker asked again. 

“Those people love to lie about everything. They make stuff up just to get us to feel bad for them. I don’t have a problem with the blacks, but I swear, sometimes they act like such n-” Denison didn’t get a chance to finish before Derek’s hands were pushing him up against the wall, his forearm braced across his throat. 

“Finish that sentence. Go ahead.” Derek growled, pushing his arm against the man’s trachea for emphasis as he added, “I fucking dare you.” 

“Morgan!” Hotch’s booming voice called from the conference room. Derek only released his hold on Denison, whose eyes were wide with fear, smirk wiped from his face, when Hotch called his name for a second time. He slowly pulled away his arm, staring Denison down as the man gasped for breath, all the while Baker stood watching in horror. Derek shot the young detective a cold glare, causing him to stutter out an apology and scurry off. 

When Derek finally managed to tear his eyes away from Denison, he begrudgingly began to tread to the conference room. Steam was practically coming from Hotch’s ears, but Derek avoided meeting the man’s gaze. He crossed his arms across his chest, shifting his weight between his feet as he stood dead center in the room. After Hotch shut the door and closed the blinds, he turned to face Derek with that same fuming expression.

“You have my full permission to tell me exactly what the hell you think you’re doing.” He bit out, mirroring Derek’s actions. When his subordinate said nothing, he threw his hand up exasperation. 

“I know for a fact you don’t need me to tell you that you cannot pull that shit here. So why exactly are we standing here? Do I need to take you off this case? Because it’s starting to look that way.” Hotch continued. Derek’s head snapped up at his words finally. 

“Why  _ am  _ I here?!" He asked incredulously. "It should be those two idiots here, not me! You should’ve heard the shit they said, they-” Derek began to weakly defend, but Hotch only shook his head. 

“You’re starting to sound like Jack now. I don’t care who said what, who ‘started it’. You are a  _ federal agent _ . Act like one. Because I’d hate to see one of my best damn profilers get kicked off of this case. Do what you just did again and it won’t be my decision next time.” The superior challenged. Derek clenched his jaw as he stepped closer into the man’s space, maintaining unbreaking eye-contact. Hotch returned the stare with practiced ease, not showing any hint of leniency. 

Only when they heard the door to the conference room swing open did the two part, directing their gazes to the scatterbrained agent who stood in the doorway. 

“I- Garcia’s got something.” Spencer said sheepishly as he balanced his coffee and several files in his hands. Hotch narrowed his eyes at Derek but nodded before he slowly turned away from the man. Derek followed behind him in a brooding silence, ignoring the glances Spencer cut him. 

Upon entering the small tech room the CPD had, the dread in Derek’s stomach made a proud reappearance. For all he knew, Garcia was preparing to show him photos of Darius’s deceased corpse, or reveal there was no possible way they could trace whoever took him. What Derek feared the most, though, was being too late. If he knew he could’ve saved Darius, but didn’t, he wasn’t sure how he could live with that. He had to force back the growing panic and anger inside of him, directing his attention to Penelope. 

“I’ve finally one-upped our little buddy here. He might be a smart cookie, but I’m a genius double fudge brownie with pecans and chocolate sauce.” She said proudly, turning to the screen and bringing up the site, along with several other images of seemingly unrelated information. 

“Garcia.” Hotch said in a warning tone. The colorful woman nodded, skipping ahead to her point. 

“The sicko got cocky, and when sickos get cocky, they get sloppy. And that’s where I come in. I managed to get in and track the geo-location of the IP address. With a little digging, I got us an address.” She said, pride ever present in her tone as she added, “House belongs to a Jerome Madison.” 

All the agents nodded their approval, all filing out as Hotch said, “Send us that address.” Garcia nodded once, her fingers flying fast across the keys before she turned to the man and shot him a grin. He patted the back of her chair, promptly exiting the room. Derek began to trail behind, but stopped when he heard Garcia call his name.

“Hey. Come back to me, okay?” She said timidly, reaching for his hand. Derek looked down at her hand and, swallowing around the lump in his throat, laced their fingers together. 

“I will.” He said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before turning to leave. He knew he’d return to her; he just wasn’t sure what it would cost. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “A void in my chest was beginning to fill with anger. Quiet, defeated anger that guaranteed me the right to my hurt, that believed no one could possibly understand that hurt.” Rachel Sontag


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The past beats inside me like a second heart.” John Banville

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for another short chapter, but some building needs to be done still! at least shorter chapters mean faster updates ;)  
> till next time!

The home of Jerome Madison was quaint and ominous looking, lying in the outskirts of the city.  As the team had sped through the streets, they passed by the youth center for the briefest of seconds, yet the insignificant encounter had Derek fighting back tears. Pulling up to the foreboding house, the team all mentally prepared themselves for the worse. They had learned long ago to expect such, knowing going in with high hopes always led to disappointment. 

“Jerome Madison, FBI!” Hotch called out as his team approached the front door. After garnering no response, he turned to Derek and gave him a brief nod. The agent easily and gracefully kicked in the door, perhaps with more force than necessary; the sound of the wood splintering and the hinges squeaking acted almost as a catharsis for him. They were immediately met with a strong stench that made the air feel thick and heavy. The smell was so potent it filled the agents’ every sense, creeping into their taste buds and making the fine hairs on their body stand stick straight. 

Spencer, Derek, and Blake all explored the lower half of the home, the rest of the team moving the clear the second floor. As they investigated, they found each room void of any presence except for the various insects feasting on the mold that decorated the scattered dishes and cups. Judging from the calls from upstairs announcing, “Clear!”, the other members of the team had found the same. 

“We’re all clear down here.” Blake proclaimed, giving the room a final scan before lowering her gun. Spencer followed suit, but Derek still had his leveled, a concentrated and concerned look on his face. Spencer eyed him curiously, head tilted to the side. 

“What is-” Derek held up a hand immediately as the words began to form in Spencer’s mouth. He took a few steps towards where the kitchen was, eyebrows pulled together. 

“Hear that?” Derek asked in a hushed whisper. Spencer inched closer towards the alleged source of the sound, eyes widening slightly when he heard just the faintest hum of music. He looked to Derek and nodded, who returned the gesture and waved Blake forward. 

The trio of agents ventured together into the kitchen, where a door covered in chipped paint was slightly obscured by a small rack. They all shared several glances before Derek went ahead and silently moved the rack out of the way of the door. Taking a deep breath, he twisted the handle slowly, pleased to find it was unlocked.

After the door had been pushed opened, Derek slowly crept down the stairs with his fellow agents in tow. With his gun raised, he took the last step and turned the corner. A small desk stood on old rickety legs, crammed into the corner of the narrow, prison like space. On it was a small old radio, emitting the voice of Ray Charles through its low quality speakers. A wooden chair was tucked away as well, a dark figure sitting deathly still in it. The lack of light in the basement obscured any of the figure’s features. 

“Jerome Madison, FBI. Put your hands where I can see them.” Derek demanded in a strained tone, his eyes flashing with anger. The figure rose his hands robotically at the agent’s command, though his posture remained relaxed. 

“Stand up and turn around. Slowly.” Derek instructed. Once again, the figured followed Derek’s orders, rising to his feet. The agents were slightly surprised to see the figure stood at barely 5’9. The true shock came, though, when he turned to face them. 

Before them stood a man - a boy - no older than twenty. His frame was thin, nearly emaciated. Even with the lack of lighting, the agents could see the boy’s unkempt appearance. Though, what struck them to the core was the proud grin he wore on his face.   
  
Staring dead into the eyes of Derek, the boy said, “I knew you’d come.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “My yesterdays walk with me. They keep step, they are gray faces that peer over my shoulder.” William Golding


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Childhood should be carefree, playing in the sun; not living a nightmare in the darkness of the soul." Dave Pelzer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for depiction of stockholm syndrome, in case that bothers anybody. we're starting to get deep into the 'casefic' part of the story!

All in all, the kid went in without a fight. He refused to speak, only asking to ride with Derek. The team adamantly refused his request, resulting in further agitation. The sight of him, a child, being forced into the back of a police car shook Derek to the core. No matter what he had done, the boy was still young and fragile. Perhaps Derek saw a piece of himself in his wild eyes. 

According to Gordinski and Denison, the boy had, as expected, remained silent throughout the drive. He refused to tell anyone his name or his relation to Jerome Madison, nor did he request a lawyer. He stared out the window blankly, with no sign of any remorse, regret, guilt, and neither pride or any indication of being excited by the crimes he had committed. He remained completely stoic, taking on that same deathly still posture from before. 

When the team and the PD arrived at the precinct, the boy was immediately placed in an interrogation room. Denison and Gordinski thought leaving him in solitude would shake him, but the boy should no sign of doing so. The BAU observed him through the glass, noticing no emotions or facial tics present. He was like a blank slate - a doll frozen in time. 

“Let me in there.” Derek said suddenly. He looked to Hotch expectantly, but the older man simply continued to observe the boy. He shook his head without comment, eyes trained on the boy. 

“Hotch, he knows me. We know this is personal. He asked for me. He’s not gonna talk to anyone but me.” Derek tried to reason. In a pleading tone, he added, “C’mon, man, it's the only way we’re gonna find Darius. Alive.” 

Hotch slowly turned towards Derek, his eyes wary and posture hesitant. He spent a few long, uncomfortable moments eyeing Derek dubiously before he said, “I need to know that you can be objective about this.” 

Derek nearly scoffed, but caught himself in time. He nodded eagerly in agreement, hoping to placate Hotch enough to get in there. He knew Hotch saw through the façade, but he still gave Derek an approving nod. Derek pressed his lips together for a moment, eyes darting over to the glass before he reached for the door of the interrogation room. 

The boy’s face practically lit up like a Christmas tree at the sight of Derek. His entire demeanor warped into something raw, no longer a blank sheet of paper. Derek’s own face had contorted into that of pure concentration as he held on to the last shred of ‘objectivity’ he had left. 

“Derek Morgan. I almost thought you weren't coming.” The boy announced suddenly, a twitchy grin on his face. Derek ignored the comment, sliding down onto the metal folding chair before the boy. 

“What’s your name, kid?” Derek asked, arms braced on the table. He leaned in closer to the boy, who was nibbling on his lip in contemplation. 

“You know, I always wondered why you never paid me a visit after you got your little list. I mean, everybody else got one.” He said nonchalantly. “But, then I realized. I wasn't on it. No, I wasn't on it, because I was special. I wasn't like the rest of you.” His grin slowly widened, morphing into a smirk as he saw Derek bite down on the inside of his cheek. 

“Your name.” He demanded once again. The boy seemed a bit taken aback by Derek’s lack of emotional response, but quickly returned to his previous expression. He began to shake his head, tsk-tsk-ing at Derek. 

“Aren't you supposed to be the one to figure that out?” He asked rhetorically. For a long while, Derek only stared at the kid, watching as he grew incrementally uncomfortable. 

When he realized Derek wasn't going to budge, he sighed and confessed, “Malik. Madison.” Derek’s eyes widened just a bit, but enough for Malik to notice. He cocked his head to the side condescendingly as he watched Derek connect the dots. 

“Jerome Madison is your father.” Derek stated obviously. Anger flashed in the boy’s eyes as he leaned closer to Derek. 

“He was never a father. I never had a father, not until-” The boy said through clenched teeth. Derek noted his sudden shift in attitude, sitting on it for a brief moment before he continued his line of questioning. 

“Of course not. Carl doesn't pick victims with one.” The boy immediately shot to his feet in fury, his chair pushed backwards by the force of his movements. 

“A _victim_? A _victim_?! I am not a ‘ _victim_ ’. No, I’m- I’m the love of his life!” Malik said pointedly. Derek gaped at the boy, eyes going wide with shock as Malik stared him down with rage written all over his face. 

As Derek finally got ahold of the emotions that plagued him, he said simply, “Ray Charles.” Malik simply narrowed his eyes at the agent, who continued, “Ray Charles - What Would I do Without You? ‘ _Promise me you'll belong to only me_.’ That song came out a long time ago, didn't it?” Malik’s jaw clenched impossibly tight as he bit back the words that danced on his tongue. 

“1958 he wrote that. You know, a friend of mine told me a person doesn't truly develop their own taste in music until they're about fourteen, and that the songs we hear early on in that stage, well.. They stick with us. Carl would've been eighteen when that came out, huh? Probably a favorite of his.” Derek said casually. Malik began to shake his head erratically as he paced the room. 

“No, that is- That’s ours. That's something you can never take from us, something even you can't ruin.” Malik spat, turning to Derek with wild eyes. 

“‘ _The way I love you, child, you'll never know._ ’” Derek quoted once again. He swallowed thickly before squaring his shoulders and asking, “You think you were his only ‘special boy’, Malik?” 

Malik’s head snapped up as he stared at Derek with furious eyes. “I was the only one who appreciated everything he did for me! You- You fucking- What an ungrateful bastard, you are! All of you! He tried so hard to love you, to treat you right, and you spat in his face! Everything you are, everything you've become, is because of him! Because he loved you! But you were selfish. You were so fucking selfish! You couldn't show him love, but I could!  _ I’m _ the one! We loved each other!” Malik yelled before dropping down to the floor, hands cradling his head. 

“And you- You took him from me. What gives you the right- The right to send an innocent man to jail? To get him killed?! All he ever did was try to love you! He thought you were special! And for what? You don't fucking deserve it! You can't even see all that he's done for you! That's why we made sure you would see, that everyone would see. That everyone would know that big bad Derek fucking Morgan is a coward. An ungrateful, selfish, weak little coward, who can't handle the fact that he's now second best.” Malik’s eyes were filled with angry tears by the time he ended his tirade, his hands shaking violently. 

Derek felt his lip begin to tremble as he listened to Malik’s ranting. “ _Objectivity_ ,” he reminded himself, “ _Always remember it's never personal._ ” That was the first rule they ever taught him the moment he became a cop, before he was even a detective, before he was bomb squad, and well before he was ever a profiler. Remain objective, distance yourself, and don't get overly involved. But how could he not get involved? How could he see a blatant attack against him as impersonal? Malik’s only goal was to hurt him. Derek was simply collateral damage; he was a victim all over again. 

Before Derek could open his mouth to feebly attempt to speak, the door to the interrogation room creaked open. Hotch stood in the doorway, peering in skeptically as he called Derek back outside. Derek looked to Malik one last time, a glare signifying they weren’t finished, before he trudged reluctantly out of the room. Once outside, Derek turned to Hotch with angry eyes. 

“What the hell was that? We were getting somewhere!” Derek cried out indignantly. Hotch only sighed, pursing his lips together for a moment. 

“It’s not him.” Hotch said suddenly. Derek immediately furrowed his eyebrows, face twisting up in disbelief. When Hotch remained stoic, Derek could only scoff. 

“You’re serious?” The question was pointless, as Hotch only continued to stare sternly back at the other agent. “Hotch, you- Are you kidding me? Look at him! I mean, he’s-” 

“Totally delusional. Disorganized. Unfit. Does that look like a kid who could meticulously code a website? Someone who could kidnap an athletic, “6’0 44 year old man? ' _We_ ' he said. ' _We made sure_ '. Not _'I'._ He’s working with someone.” Hotch reasoned. Derek began to shake his head, hands coming up to scrub over his face. He let out a hefty sigh, locking his fingers behind the back of his neck. 

“Now what?” He asked with a growl. 

Hotch leaned forward, relaxing his posture as he revealed, “CPD found letters in a locked drawer in Madison’s desk. They were addressed to-”

“Buford.” Derek finished, as if on cue. Hotch gave a sharp nod in response. 

“And we’re going to have to read every last one of them if it means finding whoever this accomplice is.” Another nod from Hotch had Derek groaning in frustration. He smacked the door frame with his fist as he traveled out of viewing room without another word. 

He once again found himself in the break room, nursing a cup of tepid coffee. He yearned for something stronger, but that wasn’t staying _objective_ , now was it? He downed the rest of the sludgy liquid with anything but zeal. He stood, cup in hand, as he went to refill it. From behind him, he could hear the door open suddenly and he left out another exasperated groan. 

“I’m not dealing with y’all’s shit right now.” Derek said to what he thought was Denison and Baker again. He was sorely mistaken, realizing this when he heard someone clear their throat.

“It’s- Um- It’s just me.” Spencer’s voice said timidly. A soft sigh escaped from Derek’s lips as he placed the cup down on the counter. With his arms crossed, he turned to face Spencer. 

“I kinda- I just- I left my.. Bag.” Spencer explained weakly. He pointed to the chair behind Derek where his battered satchel laid. Derek gave a huff before he reached for it, thrusting it into Spencer’s unsuspecting arms. Spencer scrambled to gather the bag. His fingers brushed over Derek’s consequently, causing both of the men to freeze. Neither drew their hands away, both just staring at each other for quite some time. 

Derek, unsurprisingly, was the one who broke the contact, though he didn’t shy away from Spencer’s gaze  as he said, “This little visit wasn’t about the bag, now was it?” The lightness in his tone seemed almost rare and precious to Spencer, who couldn’t help but let his lips quirk into a small smile. 

“No. I wanted to see if you were.. Okay.” Spencer said with a vague gesture. Derek looked to the ground, shifting his weight between his hips before he slunk down onto the chair. 

“‘ _I’m gonna die if you ever go_.’” Derek said softly. He looked up to Spencer, watching as the gears turned in his head.

“‘ _What would I do without you? To me, you’re the meaning of love_.’” Spencer continued the lyric with memorized ease. Derek gave a soft chuckle at that, shaking his head at the younger agent. He sobered up when he caught his lip between his teeth, obviously deep in thought. 

“How many people in abusive situations have we seen that developed Stockholm from the abuse?” He asked Spencer hesitantly.

“I- I don’t think you’re expecting me to give you a number. But.. A lot.” Spencer confessed.

“And how many were able to break their bond with their abuser? Even after death?” Derek continued. 

“Very few.” Spencer admitted feebly. Derek shook his head once more, leaning back in the chair with his arms stretched behind him. 

“I thought like Malik sometimes.” Derek revealed. “‘ _He loves me, he’s not hurting me, he protects me, he’s there for me. He’s a father to me_.’ Over and over, man. Every time. So much I started to believe it. So much that- That even now I feel.. Guilty. Like I.. Betrayed him.” 

Derek’s lip was trembling, voice wavering as he continued, “He wasn’t all bad. He was a regular guy. Someone who watched sitcoms and ate pizza. A guy who taught me how to fish, a guy who gave me advice. And I hate it. I hate that part of him was maybe- Maybe just a little bit good. Knowing that, remembering the good- Makes me miss him, almost.” Derek clenched his jaw as the tears began to spill out, wet and hot as they slid down his cheeks. 

“Derek..” Spencer breathed out. His fingers twitched at his side, aching to reach out to touch, to comfort. Derek had one knee pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around it as he crumbled in on himself. His sobs were faint and barely audible, but present enough that they made Spencer’s heart ache. Slowly, the younger agent inched towards Derek, leaning against the table before him. He gently placed his hand on Derek’s trembling shoulder, rubbing circles against it with his thumb.

“It’s okay.” He said in a broken whisper. “You’re okay.” He listened as Derek’s sobs died down, his shoulders relaxing. He finally brought his head up, resting his chin on his knees. He stared blankly at the wall, eyes still wet and shiny.   
  
“I’m going to go wait outside. When you’re ready, I’ll be there. And then we’re going to catch this guy. Together.” Spencer said with certainty. He gave Derek’s shoulder a firm squeeze before rising to his feet. Derek gave just a brief nod in response, his empty eyes darting over to look at Spencer with just the tiniest glint of hope. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/9yfB06cFDBU


	17. Chapter 17

Derek took longer than he’d had liked to admit trying to get ahold of himself. Malik’s words rang true in his ears, although they were no longer Malik's words, no longer his voice - they were Derek’s. His own mind screamed at him the same thoughts and ideas he had tried so hard to deny since they first reared their ugly heads all those years ago. The profiler part of his brain knew he was conditioned, that his thoughts were not his own, that he had been, essentially, brainwashed. But logic never fared well when it came to Derek’s own emotions.

After what felt like hours of being wrapped up in his own head, Derek forced himself to rise to his feet, albeit shakily. He immediately felt dizzy and disorientated, reminding him he had yet to eat or sleep since he had learned Darius had gone missing. His vision was swimming, his limbs felt like static, his mind like cotton, but Derek pressed on. He shuffled over to the door, where he found Spencer waiting patiently for him outside. The man didn’t even have to ask if Derek was ready, knowing, of course, the answer would be no, but what choice did they have? The two agents walked side by side towards the conference room.

The faces of their team members represented varying levels of pity, all of which made Derek feel sick. For once, though, that pity wasn’t directed at him - instead, it was for Malik. Whatever it had been that they had discovered in the letters so far haunted them.

“How many are we looking at?” Derek asked suddenly, maintaining the feigned air of professionalism he had perfected over these last few weeks.

“At least fifty. All about five pages.” Rossi said, sliding a stack of letters over to Derek. The younger profiler nodded stoically and began to thumb through the letters. However, he noticed from the corner of his eye that JJ was eyeing him warily. With a sigh, Derek looked up to meet her gaze. He cocked an eyebrow at her and watched as her lips quirked into a frown.

“If you need to.. Be alone, we all understand.” She said, treading lightly. Derek only shrugged, looking back down to the letters.

“S’fine.” He said curtly. JJ pursed her lips, obviously not willing to protest, before returning to her own stack of letters. Spencer, of course, had the largest pile, but he had already finished reading two of them by the time Derek had even sat down. That thought caused him to smile to himself, taking a peek at Spencer, whose eyes darted impossibly fast across the page. Derek fondly shook his head at the younger agent who made reading the words before him just a little bit easier. With a deep breath, Derek began to read:

_Carl,_

_It kills me that I can’t visit you, but I understand, what with the things they’re saying about you. They make me sick to my stomach. They describe you as a monster. A_ _monster_ _. How could you ever be a monster? You are nothing like those other men they’ve caged you with. They’re animals who don’t know love. But you - you’re the meaning of love. You have loved me more than I could ever deserve. I will never be able to love you as much as you love me. I am so grateful for you, everyday. I miss you so much._

_Malik_

* * *

_Carl,_

_I wish I could see your face. I need to feel your touch. I feel so empty without you. I can’t feel pleasure, not without you. I know now you’re the only one who can make me feel that way. I touch myself when I think of you, but it’s not enough. I need to feel your hands on me, stroking me, caressing me. I need to feel you inside of me, claiming every inch of me. My body is useless without you inside of it. How am I supposed to live like this?_  

_I love you,_

_Malik_

* * *

_Carl,_

_I need you to take care of me. I don’t know how to live without you. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I close my eyes and I see you in that cage. I don’t want to know the things they do to you, how they treat you. I’m sure you’ve heard what they say you’ve done. All of those boys, they are worthless. They are nothing. They were unworthy, and it angers me. How could you love them? How could you? The don’t deserve your love. Your love, so pure, so raw, so real. They put you away. They put you away, because you rejected them. Because they weren’t the ones for you. But I am, baby, I am. I adore you. I’d do anything for you. I will wait for you. I won’t let you die in there, all alone, with no one to take care of your needs. You don’t deserve this._

_Love,_

_Malik_

* * *

_It’s not real. It’s not happening. You can’t be gone. You can’t. I still feel you, I feel you in my bones, in my soul. You’re here, I know you are. You’d never leave me. You love me more than anything, and I you. You’re the reason I breathe. Without you, I’d whither away to nothing. I know you’re still here. I know it._

* * *

_Lying bastard. Lying, ungrateful, unworthy slut. He didn’t deserve your love. Out of all of them, you picked him. You picked him, he was your special one. You loved him the most. How dare he? How dare you? How could you leave like this? How am I supposed to live without you? I love you. I love you. I love you._

* * *

_Carl,_

_Hayden can’t love me like you do. He can’t touch me like you do. He hurts me. He’s selfish, but not you. Never you. You’d never do this to me. Always so gentle, so tender, so loving. You played my body like an instrument, with such expertise, such finesse. He is hungry. He’s an animal. He desires pleasure solely for himself. I hate him. I hate him, and you told me to be brave, told me to be good, but I can’t. How could you do this? Why did they take you from me?_

_I love you forever,_

_Malik_

* * *

_I hate you. I hate you so much. Why did you leave me? You weren’t supposed to leave. You said you’d never leave me, but you’re gone and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who to be without you. What am I supposed to do?_

* * *

_Please. Please come back. Please, I miss you so much. I miss you. I miss you. I love you. Please._

* * *

_Carl,_

_It’s okay now. I understand what you need me to do. I knew you’d come back. I knew you’d never leave me. Thank you. I love you always._

_Your only one,_

_Malik_

* * *

 Derek didn’t noticed his tears until the droplets landed on the last page of the final letter. He looked up to find his teammates staring at him once again, causing him to growl angrily. He rubbed at his eyes with intent and bit back another sob. He couldn’t even process the words on the paper, too busy focusing on evening out his breathing. From beside him, he heard Spencer rise to his feet eagerly.

“Hayden. The name Hayden appears approximately 6 times, with 22 vague allusions to the same person.” He said, fumbling with the papers. He spread them all out on the table, reaching into his bag for a highlighter. He underlined certain excerpts from each of his letters, allowing his teammates to take quick glances.

Derek’s head snapped up the moment he heard the name, his interest piqued. He scooted his chair over to get a peek at the letters, before the words finally registered in his mind.

“Hayden Rawlings.” Derek said. Suddenly, anger flashed across his face as he said in immediate realization, “I spoke to him the day Darius went missing. Son of a bitch, he-” Derek slammed his fist down on the table, eyes screwed shut as he relived the innocent encounter over and over again. He had him. He had him right there and let him slip through his fingers. He now held Darius’s life in his hands; he knew the blame was now on him.

“I’ll have Garcia look into him.” Hotch said in a level voice. “It’s late, and we've done all we can. We all need rest.” Each member of the team nodded their approval. They began to file out when Hotch shot them each an authoritative look, leaving him and Derek alone once again. Under his boss’s scrutiny, Derek began to squirm uncomfortably. With a sigh, Hotch dropped his all too familiar act of the authoritarian and allowed himself to speak to Derek as they truly were.  
  
“You can’t blame yourself for this.” He told the younger agent. “The guilt, it’s what gets us in the end. You can’t let it eat you.” With that, Hotch gave Derek a reassuring clap on the shoulder and exited the conference room. The almost fatherly action nearly calmed the storm inside of Derek, who nodded to himself. He took the words in stride as he stepped out of the room, switching the light off behind him.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Even beyond the body itself, we are making love." Sharon Olds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry for the late update! enjoy some smut that can only be defined as porn with feelings. maybe even no porn. just feelings with anal. till next time  
> also side note: please whatever u do do not use body lotion for lube like in this fic. your butt will thank me later.

Derek hadn't realized just how exhausted he was until he crossed the threshold into the hotel room later that night. The moment Spencer closed the door behind them, he was practically falling to the floor, begging for sleep. He felt Spencer’s reassuring hand on the small of his back, urging him towards the stairs. Derek shuffled over to the spiral staircase, but paused and froze in place. He chewed on his lip in thought for quite some time before he turned to face Spencer.

“That couch can’t be good for your back.” He said slowly, not meeting Spencer’s eyes. “The bed, you know, the bed upstairs- there’s- it’s a king, so I mean- If you wanted..” He gesticulated wildly at Spencer then at the staircase before his hand rested on the back of his neck. He tried to pretend he didn’t notice how uncharacteristically warm it felt, and definitely didn’t want to think about the fact that his cheeks were burning as well.

Derek didn’t look up to see Spencer nod, but he heard him clear his throat and begin to inch closer towards Derek. Neither of them said a word as they climbed the stairs, the only sound in the room that of the creaky steps. Derek immediately went for the bathroom, while Spencer simply plopped down on the bed. Part of him still thought it would be inappropriate if he just stripped down to his boxers and undershirt, but the other part didn’t honestly feel like going downstairs to get pajamas, and he really wasn’t fond of the idea of sleeping in slacks and a sweater vest.

By the time Spencer had stripped down to next to nothing, Derek still wasn’t done in the bathroom. He did hear the water running, though, so he figured Derek was just taking a shower before bed. How he could even stand long enough to do so was a miracle. Spencer decided to climb underneath the sheets and nuzzle into the abundance of pillows provided. He closed his eyes and had drifted off just seconds before the bathroom door opened, the light from inside casting a glow over the room.

With a slightly indignant huff, Spencer decided to crack open one eye and take a peek towards the small hallway that lead to the bathroom. He saw Derek - rather, he saw Derek’s shadowy form - step out of the bathroom and begin to walk towards him. Spencer tried to bite back a remark, shoving his face farther into the pillow. When a few moments passed and he didn’t feel the bed dip with Derek’s weight, he actually groaned and flipped over onto his back.

“Look, I’ll gladly go back downstairs if you want to do whatever, but seriously, you-” Any and all words died before they left Spencer’s mouth the moment Derek came into focus.

Derek was clad in absolutely nothing, bare as the day he was born, standing at the foot of the bed as he watched Spencer with eyes that held an unreadable emotion. All Spencer could do was stare back at him, mouth suddenly feeling dry.

When he finally figured out how to form words, Spencer tried to ask, “Why are you- where’s your- and what- what’re you..?” He swore he almost saw Derek crack a smile at his feeble attempt at communication.

“I want you to have sex with me.” He stated plainly, simple as that. Now Spencer was really at a loss for words, mouthing agape as he sputtered for some sort of form of communication.

“We- You- We can’t- You don’t want- No. We- We can’t.” Spencer began to shake his head insistently at the thought he tried desperately not to dwell on. He knew the fragile state his friend was in, and damn it all, he wouldn’t - couldn’t - take advantage of that just to fulfil a superficial yet longstanding fantasy.

“Yes, we can.” Derek counteracted. Spencer only continued to shake his head as he climbed out of the bed, walking towards the bathroom to pick up Derek’s clothes. He was stopped by Derek’s calloused hand gripping his wrist, tugging him back towards his body.

“I’m not broken.” Derek said, softer this time. He looked to Spencer with pleading eyes so filled with want and need and trust that it broke Spencer’s heart. Spencer weakly tried to slip out of Derek’s grip, knowing fully well he could if he tried, but he wasn’t sure if he truly wanted to.

“I know.” Spencer croaked out. He glanced down at his wrist where Derek’s hand laid with a heavy, sad sigh. He placed his other hand on top of Derek’s, prying Derek’s fingers off of him. He gentled intertwined their fingers, giving a squeeze to Derek’s hand before he looked up at him.

“Then please do this for me.” Derek pleaded, rubbing his thumb over Spencer’s knuckles. In a rough whisper, he said, “I need to know he didn't ruin this, too.”

Spencer, hearing the sheer desperation in Derek’s voice, could only swallow around the lump in his throat. He stared at Derek with unbreakable eye contact and watched as the man’s pupils dilated in a tell-tale manner. Even when Derek leaned in, a mere fraction of an inch away from Spencer’s face, Spencer couldn't take his eyes off of Derek. He was completely transfixed and captivated, and he wasn't sure if he was drowning in the moment or reveling in it.

The kiss was much different than the last, but with the same hint of desperation. Derek’s lips moved against Spencer’s with purpose, seeking out one final goal. Both of their hands found their way to the others faces, and they each gingerly cupped the cheek of the other. They kissed like this, with no rush, no apparent fervency, until Spencer felt, more than heard, Derek whine against his lips. Derek had begun to squirm slightly as he deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms around Spencer’s neck to pull him closer until their teeth were clashing against each other. Derek’s tongue prodded at Spencer’s parted lips, eagerly slipping inside his mouth. Spencer accepted it with zeal, allowing his own tongue to slot against Derek’s.

Soon enough, Derek’s soft whines and moans became constant and more prominent. He began to paw at Spencer’s chest, grabbing fistfuls of his undershirt. Spencer, however, had no plans of pulling away long enough for Derek to slide off the garment. He only pulled Derek in closer, hands traveling down to his waist, using his hips to pull him flush against his own body. Feeling Derek’s half hard cock press against the thin fabric of Spencer’s boxers, the younger man gasped quietly and automatically jutted his hips against Derek. Spencer dug his nails into the skin of Derek’s hips, one hand traveling up to the back of Derek’s neck. When he heard Derek mumble something against his lips, though, he immediately retreated, his grip going lax.

Spencer looked into Derek’s eyes, fully prepared to see the regret and shame Spencer knew was inevitable. However, he was met with nothing but fervency as Derek continued to try and remove Spencer’s shirt.

Spencer waited for the word “stop” or “don't” to fall from Derek’s lips, but all he got was, “Please, please. Need you.” The moment the words tumbled from Derek’s mouth he attached his lips to Spencer’s throat, kissing and nipping his way down to Spencer’s collarbones. He littered them with wet, open mouthed kisses, to which Spencer responded by tilting his head back and letting out a low, whiny moan. Derek took the opportunity to slide his hands beneath Spencer’s shirt, thumbs going to brush over the younger’s nipples. When Spencer gave another whine of pleasure, Derek took initiative to finally, finally peel off Spencer’s shirt.

Spencer shivered as Derek’s hand trailed up and down his chest, cataloging every inch of it. Derek bent his knees slightly to kiss along Spencer’s sternum before hesitantly running his tongue along Spencer’s nipple. Spencer’s breath caught in his throat as he gasped, hand resting on Derek’s shoulder as he gently sucked on his nipple. Spencer made sure not to put any pressure behind his grip, as to not trigger Derek with the implication of the loss of an escape route. He refused to place his hand on Derek’s head as well, knowing all the memories that could easily be brought up from the simple action.

Spencer remained tentative with Derek, mindful of the man’s needs and wants while also taking into account his perceived fragility. He let Derek move at his own pace, helped him stay in control of the situation, all while making sure anything Derek wanted was backed by enthusiastic and unwavering consent. As Derek began to take a few steps backwards towards the bed, pulling Spencer along with him, Spencer tried his hardest not to fall on top of Derek like a dead weight - but Derek was eager and adamant to prove Buford wrong, that it may have clouded his vision.

When the back of Derek’s knees hit the edge of the bed, he plopped down on his back on the mattress, tugging Spencer down on top of him. As expected, he tensed up, his breathing going shallow. Spencer propped himself up on his elbows so he was planking over Derek, simply hovering to avoid bearing any of his weight down on him. It took Derek a few tense moments, but soon enough he opened his eyes and looked up at Spencer, his breathing steadying. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip slowly before he nodded at Spencer, pulling him back down into a tender kiss.

Somewhere amidst the timid yet enthusiastic make out session, Derek had slotted his thigh between Spencer’s, gripping his hips and urging him to rock against his knee. Spencer pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against Derek’s, looking down at him dubiously. He gave a hesitant roll of the hips and let out soft moan that Derek as well reciprocated. The two worked up a steady grind, just rutting against each other until Derek once again grew fervent and zealous.

Suddenly, he was urging Spencer onto his back, playing their size difference to his advantage. He immediately settled between Spencer’s legs, kissing and leaving love bites up his thighs. As he inched closer towards the waistband of Spencer’s boxers, Spencer gently gripped Derek’s chin and tilted it up so that they were eye to eye.

“You don't have to do that. I’m already-” Spencer began to say, before Derek interrupted him in a quiet, broken voice.

“‘Always loved that mouth of yours,’” he said, bottom lip trembling, “Please, just- Please.”

Spencer watched him with hesitant eyes, lip caught between his teeth. After seeing the look of sheer desperation, Spencer slowly nodded and released Derek’s chin. He scooted up the bed a bit and settled down on his back, head propped up on a few pillows. Derek looked up at him, a barely noticeable smile spreading across his face.

“It’s.. Been awhile, since..” Spencer revealed sheepishly, his face heating with embarrassment. Derek didn't say a word, though, too preoccupied with running his hands up and down Spencer’s thighs. As he trailed them back upwards, he hooked his fingers in the waistband of Spencer’s boxers, looking up at the younger man for some sort encouragement. Spencer offered him a nod, reaching forward to cup Derek’s cheek. He smiled when Derek nuzzled into the touch, rubbing his thumb across Derek’s cheekbone.

Derek resituated himself between Spencer’s legs, breathing in deeply before he began to tug down Spencer’s boxers. Spencer lifted his hips and helped wiggle out of them, immediately burying his face in the pillow as he felt the cool air hit his exposed flesh. He felt shaky hands come up to rest on his stomach, moving downward dangerously slow.

“Derek, I promise, you don't need to- _oh_.” Spencer cut himself off with a soft gasp as he felt Derek’s tongue gently swipe across the head of his cock. He held his breath when Derek began to lick along his length, biting down hard on his bottom lip to keep from making any sound. That precaution went out the window the moment Derek closed his lips around Spencer’s cock, his tongue lapping at the slit. Spencer had to force himself with all his might to keep from bucking up into the warm, wet heat. He grabbed fistfuls of the sheets in his hands, keeping them balled up at his side as Derek began to bob his head.

A dark, calloused, and trembling hand found it’s way to Spencer’s, urging him to release his grip on the sheets. When he finally did, Derek took Spencer’s hand in his and placed it on the back of his neck. He looked up at Spencer for a split second, an encouraging look in his eyes.

As Derek took Spencer down a bit deeper, Spencer began to massage soothing and reassuring circles on Derek’s neck. He never applied any pressure, just simply rested it there atop of the smooth skin. With Derek trying to fit as much of Spencer as he could in his mouth, the younger man found himself losing the control he had tried so hard to maintain for Derek’s sake. He couldn't help but let out soft moans and little whimpers of pleasure whenever Derek flicked his tongue over the head, or when he himself emitted a low moan that sent chills down Spencer’s spine. He was teetering on the edge, on the verge of letting go, when he had to gently guide Derek’s head upwards.

Spencer tugged Derek forward for another heated kiss, holding Derek tightly to his chest. Derek nipped at Spencer’s lip before he began to mouth along his neck once more, leaving red marks all along Spencer’s skin. He kissed up the column of Spencer’s throat before retreating and pecking him gently on the lips lingeringly. He affectionately nuzzled at Spencer’s cheek just before he rolled over onto his back, bringing Spencer along with him. This time, instead of tensing underneath Spencer’s lithe yet hard body, Derek wrapped his arms around Spencer and restarted with the slow, steady grind as before.

After several moments of simply rutting against each other, Derek, now panting in Spencer’s ear, scurried back up the bed after slipping out from underneath the other man. Spencer looked at him apprehensively, seemingly ready to back off at any second, but Derek looked back at him reassuringly. Slowly, he relaxed back into the mattress and, trembling like a leaf, spread his legs apart inch by inch as he showed himself to Spencer. Spencer swallowed thickly as he stared back at Derek, completely awestruck.

“You- You’re, um- Sorry, you-” Spencer stuttered out. In a soft whisper, gently reaching forward to rub his thumb over Derek’s brow bone, Spencer confessed, “You’re just.. Beautiful.”

Derek’s breath caught in his throat at Spencer’s earnest compliment, hot tears welling up in his eyes. He gaped at Spencer pathetically, searching for words as tears traveled down his cheeks. He began to shake his head, but Spencer shushed him, thumbing away the stray tears.

Derek’s shoulders began to heave as he began to sob, hiccuping all the way through his sentence, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, don't- I need- Spencer, please.” He reached for Spencer desperately, grabbing his face and pulling him back down into a kiss. His nails dug into the soft flesh on the back of Spencer’s neck, causing the younger man to gasp softly into their kiss. Derek seized the opportunity to slip his tongue into Spencer’s mouth, silencing Spencer’s soft sounds of surprise. Spencer allowed himself to deepen the kiss until he began to push on Derek’s chest, retreating from Derek’s lips.

“Um- Do you, ah, have.. Stuff?” Spencer asked vaguely, not sure if his flushed cheeks were a result of his embarrassment or from the heated look Derek was giving him.

Derek flushed red as well, wetting his lips before revealing, “I already.. You know. In the bathroom.” When Spencer’s eyes widened a bit, Derek began to squirm underneath him, eyes sliding over to the wall.

“I used the, um- I used your body lotion.” Derek admitted sheepishly. When he finally looked up at Spencer, he sighed in relief, letting out a breathless half chuckle when he saw Spencer smiling shyly down at him.

“That's why you smell so good.” Spencer teased, somewhat tearfully. Derek smiled sadly up at him, pressing their foreheads together before he gently pushed on Spencer’s chest and urged him towards the bathroom. Spencer gave a minuscule nod as he slowly rose to his feet, padding to the bathroom on shaky legs. When he reached the small room, he chanced a glance at himself in the mirror, gasping softly when he saw how completely debauched he looked. Derek had marked up his neck and chest with light bruises, and his hair was mussed and wild. His cheeks were flushed and only grew redder when he picked up the bottle off of the counter, examining it warily. The thought of Derek standing in the room, pleasuring himself to prepare for such an intimate, connective experience with Spencer had the young man’s breathing speeding up.

Spencer returned to the spacious bedroom with the bottle, placing it on the bed as he climbed back on top of Derek. The two kissed for a few brief moments before Derek began to writhe beneath Spencer, desperate for touch. Spencer looked down at Derek, whose eyes were wide and trusting. He nodded insistently at Spencer, hand groping around the bed until he found the bottle and thrusted it into Spencer’s hands.

“No condoms.” Derek said in a hoarse whisper. He cupped Spencer’s face in both his hands, keeping his forehead pressed against Spencer’s as he told him, “Just wanna feel you.” Spencer unconsciously licked his lips, breathing coming out ragged as he stared down at Derek.

Slowly pulling away from Derek, Spencer nodded and settled back to uncap the bottle, hands shaking violently. Derek placed his own hand over Spencer’s, rubbing his thumb over Spencer’s wrist in encouragement. With a weak smile, Spencer sighed softly and closed his eyes.

“We need to talk about this some,” Spencer began, “What position is most comfortable?”

Derek chewed on his lip, giving an experimental wiggle before saying, “Like this. On my back, so I can- Where I can see your face.”

Spencer nodded, then asked, “Is there anything you don't want me to.. Say?”

Derek avoided meeting Spencer’s gaze as he whispered, “‘Good boy.’” Spencer could hear Derek’s voice crack as the words escaped his lips. Derek took in another deep breath, then said, “I- ‘special boy’. Anything with ‘boy’. And don't- Don't, um- Don't talk about how.. Tight it is.” Derek paused for a second, then added, “Say my name. No nicknames, just.. My name.”

Spencer leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Derek’s brow, gently nuzzling his nose. “Okay, Derek.”

The sound of Derek’s airy laugh had Spencer smiling fondly down at the man. He pressed his cheek against Derek’s and kissed the corner of his mouth before settling in between Derek’s legs, spreading them slightly. He took the bottle and slowly squeezed out some of the lotion, using it to coat himself. He couldn't help but groan softly as he stroked himself, head lulling to the side a bit while soft sighs escaped his mouth. Derek ran his clammy, shaking hands up Spencer’s thighs, kneading the soft flesh as Spencer’s fist continued to move along his length for a few moments.

When he was satisfied, Spencer leaned down and kissed behind Derek’s ear while his hand slid underneath Derek’s knee. He softly nipped at Derek’s earlobe, whispering to him, “I’m going to touch you now, okay? It's just me, Derek. Just us.” Derek nodded eagerly at the words, raising his hips up in anticipation. Spencer sucked in a deep breath, his hand traveling down the back of Derek’s thigh. When his fingers brushed over Derek’s entrance, he felt the man tense beneath him, watching as his eyes screwed shut.

“Just me,” Spencer reassured once more, “You're in control here. Everything stops when you say the word. Understand?” Spencer’s voice was stern but overflowing with fondness and concern. Derek nodded at the words, taking in a few deep breaths before he opened his eyes to look up at Spencer. He reached forward to touch his face, fingers memorizing every sharp angle of his features.

Carefully, Spencer spread the remaining lotion over Derek’s entrance, distracting him with a soft kiss. He whispered against Derek’s lips, “Is it okay if I put it inside?”

Derek blushed at the request but nodded jerkily, spreading his legs a bit wider for Spencer. With slow, gentle movement, Spencer slipped his finger inside of Derek. He was met with no resistance, and felt Derek gladly accept the digit inside him. He bent his finger just so, lightly stroking over Derek’s prostate. He earned a soft, punched out moan from the older man, who pushed his hips down onto the finger.

“Please.” Derek whined as he wiggled his hips. “I’m ready, I’m- Please, please.” Spencer slowly removed his finger at Derek’s command, staring down at his face with palpable concern.

“Where’s your head at?” Spencer asked tentatively, stroking Derek’s cheek. The older man sighed softly and leaned into the touch.

Spencer could barely hear him as he murmured, “Right here. With you.” His breath caught in his throat as Spencer lifted his leg up and pulled his hips forward on an angle, choking on his words, “Want you - need you.”

With his lips ghosting over Derek’s, Spencer slowly lined himself up with Derek’s entrance. He tentatively rubbed his cock along Derek’s hole, allowing the man to get a feel for what was to come. He watched as Derek shivered at the sensation, stilling for a moment until he heard Derek whine in need. After Spencer took a deep, shaky breath, he leaned forward just enough to slip the head of his cock inside Derek. Immediately, Derek tensed, but he still wrapped his arms around Spencer’s neck, pulling him down for a languid kiss. Each time their lips pressed against one another, Spencer pushed in just a little bit farther, until he finally bottomed out.

Spencer felt one of Derek’s hands flop around to reach for his, and Spencer gladly intertwined his fingers with Derek’s, while Derek’s other hand remained on the back of Spencer’s neck. They stayed like that for some time, Derek accommodating Spencer inside of his body, both of them reveling in the beauty of the intimacy. After several minutes had passed, Derek began to get squirmy, his hips rolling down on Spencer.

“Move.” Derek demanded huskily, hips building up a steady rhythm. With a nod, Spencer slowly inched out, then slid back inside, repeating the motion a few times until he picked up the pace just slightly. The slow drag had Spencer feeling like he was on fire with pleasure and need, Derek’s warm, tight body welcoming him. The physical sensations could never compare to the wave of emotions he felt, knowing, seeing, and feeling just how much Derek trusted him.

Soon Spencer had built up a steady, gentle pace of long, slow thrusts that had Derek gasping and writhing beneath the younger man’s body. He met each of Spencer’s thrusts with earnest, his hands clawing at Spencer’s back. Each time Spencer pushed back in, the head of his cock brushing against Derek’s prostate, Derek’s body arched off of the bed, his head thrown back in pleasure. They made love mostly in silence, their noises of pleasure soft and content.

Disrupting the easy silence, Derek pleaded, “More. Faster.” He met Spencer’s next thrust with a bit more zeal than before, signifying his eager consent. Spencer looked down at him dubiously, but when he was met with nothing but trusting, lustful eyes, he sighed in resolution. He quickened his pace enough that it had them both panting and cursing, their moans growing in pitch, but not enough to overwhelm Derek. The older man was growing frustrated, trying to grip Spencer’s hips and force him to go deeper.

“Not gonna break.” Derek grunted, pulling Spencer down to crash their lips together. Between kisses, Derek pleaded, “C’mon, please. Like you mean it.”

Spencer let out a groan at Derek’s words, hips snapping forward on command. He continued with the motion, holding Derek’s face firmly between his hands. He kissed Derek’s nose, his cheeks, his forehead - anywhere he could reach - mumbling against the skin, “So beautiful. You’re so strong, Derek. I’m so proud of you.”

Spencer felt tears wet his cheeks, unsure if they were his or Derek’s. They both sniffled and blinked to clear their watery eyes, allowing them to see one another clearly. Spencer was awestruck by the sheer, evident trust he saw on Derek’s tear-stained face, eyes filled to the brink with need and desperation, all for Spencer. The look on Derek’s face had Spencer’s movements stuttering, his peak slowly approaching. He gripped Derek’s hips firmly yet gently, pulling his body down in time to meet his thrusts.

“So good, feels so- Oh, God, Spencer.” Derek said breathlessly, his blunt nails digging into Spencer’s soft flesh as he drove back into his pliant body. Spencer let out an almost primal sound, the urge to protect, to please, to satisfy his lover overwhelming him. He began to bite along the column of Derek’s neck, the combined sensation of Spencer’s soft lips on his throat and the ragged breathing in his ear sending shivers down Derek’s spine.

“Touch me.” Derek begged, pushing his hips up to feel his cock rub against Spencer’s sweat slicked stomach. He heard the younger man curse quietly, though his movements never faltered even as he snuck his hand between his and Derek’s hard bodies. With a tentative, deft hand, Spencer closed his fist around Derek’s cock, stroking him in time with his ever quickening thrusts.

When Spencer felt Derek clench around him, he groaned loudly in Derek’s ear, rasping out a warning, “Close, I’m close.” Derek made the same desperate sound then repeated the action, rolling his hips for emphasis.

“Inside me, want you to come inside me. Don't wanna feel him anymore, ever again. Please.” Derek whimpered, his heels pushing into Spencer’s lower back to force him deeper. They each groaned at the sensations, both desperately chasing release.

Spencer craned his head to kiss Derek’s jaw as Derek began to whine and tear up, mumbling against his skin, “Sh, sh, it's okay. Just us here, just you and me. He’s not here.” Spencer drove his hips home once again, the motion causing Derek to arch his back and lull his head to the side. A strangled cry and an enthusiastic “yes” fell from his lips when Spencer bit down on his neck, leaving a dark purple bruise on his skin. Spencer kissed and licked at the mark to lav away the sharp sting, though Derek didn't seem to mind one bit if his litany of moans and constant chanting of Spencer’s name was any indicator. His noises only continued to grow in volume as Spencer moved his fist along his cock rapidly, hips continuing to snap forward.

“Right there, right there! Spencer, please, please, I’m - Oh, fuck! Yes, yes, I love you!”

With that, both Spencer and Derek were coming within seconds of each other, their mouths crashing together as they stifled each other's noises. Both of their cheeks were stained with tears that rubbed off against the others face. As they both rode out their orgasms, they kissed and thumbed away the tears that had fallen.

They remained still with their faces pressed against each other, Spencer still inside of Derek, unwilling to move. They kissed soft and languidly, nuzzling their noses against one another’s with each chaste peck. Both men’s breathing had begun to even out, and their breaths ghosted across each other's lips. They reveled in the feeling of the other being so present, so alive, their warm bodies against each other’s.

Finally, Spencer reluctantly pulled out, much to Derek’s dismay. He rolled over onto his back and Derek immediately curled up on his chest without a word. Fresh tears fell from Derek’s eyes onto Spencer’s stomach, but Spencer simply shushed Derek, smoothing his hand down Derek’s back. He reassured him with soft whispers of sweet nothings in his ear, lips pressed to his head with his arms around Derek’s body protectively. Soon, Derek’s muscles had relaxed completely under Spencer’s hold, his breathing steady and even.

As Derek drifted off to sleep, Spencer pressed a final kiss to his head, whispering for only himself to hear, “I love you, too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "There was no world, no land, no god or heaven or earth outside of their two bodies naked and trembling in the act of love." Roman Payne


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "If a clean heart wears dirty clothes, it will still be clean. If a dirty heart wears clean clothes, it will still be dirty.” Mehmet Murat ildan

Hayden Rawlings was no longer the visage of an innocent old man as he sat on the cold metal chair in the confines of the 12x12 interrogation room of the Chicago Police Department. Local PD, as well as Derek’s team, decided it was best to let Rawlings feel the heat for a bit before they questioned him. Though Derek couldn’t wait to go inside and tear the man a new one, he did derive some sick satisfaction from seeing Hayden squirm. 

CPD and the BAU had picked Rawlings up at a bridge tournament held at the local community center. The look on the faces of Rawlings’ peers, ones of complete shock, had Derek grinding his teeth in distaste. Once the man was detained, they obtained a search warrant in order to investigate every inch of Rawlings’ house. Much to their dismay, they found nothing indicating Darius had ever been there - but that was not to say there was nothing at all incriminating in his home. 

Dozens upon dozens of lewd polaroids of young boys, many of which Derek could tell were of Malik, had been found in a shoebox beneath Hayden’s bed. Though they couldn’t connect him to Darius’s kidnapping just yet, they still were able to hold him on possession of child pornography. 

Seeing the photos had Derek’s skin crawling while rage bubbled inside of him. Some of the boys were incredibly young, much younger than Derek was when his own abuse had occurred. He could quite possibly put some of them at just seven or eight years old. The terror, hurt, and confusion splayed across their faces plain as day cut deep into Derek, who couldn’t stop staring at the children's helpless eyes; that was the only thing he could see when he saw Rawlings sitting in that room - his sick, depraved hands over those children, marring their innocence while paying no mind to the dead look that filled up once hopeful, shining eyes. 

After sweating Rawlings for at least two hours, Derek himself began to grow impatient. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the glass as he paced the viewing room. Even when Penelope had called him over to the tech room look over Rawlings’ file with her, he remained in the small, suffocating room, itching to let Rawlings get a taste of him. A part of him knew Hotch would be reluctant to let him inside, and that was best case scenario. Worst case? He wouldn’t allow Derek to speak with him at all, and for good reason. Derek wasn’t sure what he’d do without a barrier between him and that monster of a man. 

Hotch had slipped into the viewing room as Derek weighed his options, his foot tapping incessantly. His restlessness only ceased when Hotch cleared his throat, stepping aside to reveal Spencer. The agent appeared timid and demure, and, frankly, more innocent than he should look. He had his hair tucked behind his ears, stray pieces falling in his face that he hid behind. His tie was loosened and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone, yet he still managed to conceal the marks Derek had left on him the night prior. That thought had Derek shifting his weight between his hips uncomfortably as he reached up to rub his own bruised neck. 

What caught Derek’s eye was the pants, though. Instead of his usually looser fitting business slacks, he was donning a much tighter pair, ones Derek was sure he hadn’t left the hotel room in. He had changed his shoes as well, now wearing his beat up Chucks, bony ankles peeking out from the bottom of his pant legs. It took a moment for Derek to understand, but when it clicked, he was shaking his head in refusal. 

“No.” He said simply, yet sternly. Hotch pressed his lips together, looking over to Spencer. The younger agent sighed softly, stepping forward towards Derek.

“Morgan, it’s-” His attempt to placate was feeble.

“No,” Derek restated, eyes trained on Spencer, “I am not letting you go in there so he can leer at you.” Spencer huffed and crossed his arms, his back straightening.

“Well, that’s not your decision.” He said to Derek formally. Derek was visibly taken aback by Spencer’s curt tone, and he scoffed in disbelief. 

“So, what? You’re just going to go in there and.. Seduce information out of him?” Derek’s eyes immediately flashed with anger when Spencer pursed his lips and nodded. He turned to Hotch for reassurance, but the senior agent only stared back at Derek. 

“You can’t be considering this.” Derek said insistently. 

Hotch, much to Derek’s dismay, replied, “I’m not considering it. I’m authorizing it.” Derek threw his hands up with a scoff before crossing them over his chest, avoiding meeting either of the agents’ gazes. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hotch give a sharp nod to Spencer, who sighed softly as he looked to Derek one last time before heading into the interrogation room. 

The moment Rawlings laid eyes on Spencer, his mouth parted in a slight “o” while his tongue darted out to wet his lip. Derek was enraged, but Spencer remained calm as he slid down into the chair with feigned clumsiness. 

“Hi, Mr. Rawlings. I’m Agent Reid. I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I may?” Spencer asked him with a shy smile. Hayden’s eyes widened a bit at Spencer's words, and he leaned in dangerously close. 

“Agent?” He asked dubiously. When Spencer nodded, Rawlings let out a big gust of air, saying, “But you look so young.” Derek watched as his eyes wandered down to Spencer’s lips, where they lingered for far too many seconds. 

“Well, thank you.” Spencer replied sheepishly. He looked up at Rawlings from behind his lashes, wearing that same timid expression. He observed Rawlings for a few moments before he cleared his throat and leaned forward with his hands crossed on the table. 

“So, I’m sure you’re aware of the charges pending against you.” Spencer said slowly in an easy, non-accusatory tone. Derek could see plain as day the young agent was trying to gain Rawlings’ trust, yet he still couldn’t help but grit his teeth. 

Rawlings shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes darting around the room nervously. He stuttered, “I- I didn't do anything wrong. They’re- they’re just photos, is all. They’re art.” 

Spencer nodded thoughtfully, responding by stating, “You look, but you don't touch.” He knew it was a lie, as many of Malik’s letters spoke of abuse by the hands of Hayden Rawlings, but Spencer tried to play ignorant. His gentle tone and soft, modest looks had Hayden melting in the agent’s hands. 

“Exactly. They’re just.. Mere fantasies.” Rawlings replied. Spencer bit down on his lip, exaggerating the action to draw attention to his mouth. 

“I understand.” He said timidly. Hayden’s eyes widened at Spencer’s revelation. 

“You do?” He asked in a low voice, leaning in closer to Spencer. The agent nodded slowly, thickly swallowing as he looked up at Rawlings. 

“We all have fantasies. Even I-” Spencer cut himself off and looked away ashamedly. When Hayden reached forward to touch Spencer's wrist, Derek let out a growl that startled the others agents present in the viewing room. 

“It’s okay. Tell me.” Rawlings whispered - hook, line, and sinker. 

“I- I think about.. Things I shouldn't want sometimes. People I shouldn't want. But I can't help it.” Spencer said as he let out a gust of air. “I.. Indulge, when I know I shouldn't. Fantasizing, it- it only helps so much, though. Do you ever..?” 

As Rawlings exhaled sharply and nodded, Derek found himself growing more and more anxious, yet simultaneously proud of Spencer for remaining so calm. Though his back was stiff and Derek could see just the slightest tremble to Spencer’s hands, he still kept up his act flawlessly. 

“Tell me what you’ve done, Mr. Rawlings.” Spencer said in a low, sultry voice that had all of the agents cringing. They watched as Hayden’s breathing sped up and he began to shift in his seat, visibly aroused. 

“The first time.. I really didn't mean to,” Rawlings began feebly, “He was just so.. Beautiful. So small.” He shuddered as he licked his lips, reflecting on whatever sick memory played in his mind. 

“When I got him nude, and I saw him spread his legs, I- I couldn't stop myself.” Derek could see Spencer clenching his jaw in disgust, but Rawlings paid no mind to him. 

“Then, Mr. Buford introduced me to one of his own boys. I was so jealous; he was so pure, so little. He- He had such pretty, pretty lips.” Hayden’s breath ghosted across Spencer’s face in a barely audible whisper as he asked, “You understand, don't you? How hard it can be to resist?” 

Spencer nodded slowly, nervously swallowing as he whispered, “And you wanted him all to yourself.” 

Hayden smiled softly at that, replying, “Exactly. And when I finally, finally got him-” He shook his head and angrily clenched his jaw, biting out, “They started to ask questions. Putting their noses in business they just couldn't understand. I had to help him.” 

In a bold move, Spencer reached forward and rested his hand on top of Hayden’s. Spencer licked his lips before he looked up at the man expectantly in silent encouragement. Hayden’s breath hitched in his throat, and soon he was totally wrapped around Spencer’s finger. 

“I needed to get rid of him, before he ruined everything for me and my boy.” Hayden revealed. 

“Where did you take him?” Spencer asked, his finger drawing light circles on Hayden’s wrist. Hayden was breathing heavily and unevenly, his pupils blown wide with lust. The agents in the viewing room could see his leg wiggling around beneath the table nervously, his body shuddering with every pass of Spencer’s nimble finger across his heated skin. 

“To the farmhouse, where me and my boy go to get away. It was his idea to take the photos. I didn't- He was much, much too old. I couldn't even look at him.” Rawlings said a shake of the head. Without him noticing, Spencer turned to the glass with a small smirk, his teammates all astonished. 

“Thank you.” Spencer said before he rose to his feet. “Oh, I almost forgot. Mr. Rawlings?” 

Hayden’s face fell as he looked up at Spencer. His back immediately stiffened at Spencer’s now venomous tone, previous feigned innocence melting away. Just as Spencer was about to open the door, he called out, “Rot in hell.” 

Spencer slammed the door behind him as he stepped into the viewing room, leaning against the cold wood as he screwed his eyes shut. Derek stared at him with concern, desperate to reach forward and comfort; he knew, though, that that was the last thing Spencer wanted or needed. 

“Have Garcia look for other properties under Rawlings’ name.” Spencer said monotonously before he exited the viewing room without another word. The other agents all stood around awkwardly as Derek trailed behind Spencer unashamedly. He followed him to the men’s room, where he found Spencer hunched over the sink, splashing water over his face. 

“Kid.” Derek said feebly. He heard Spencer let out a sigh, his cold trembling hands coming down to grip the cool marble countertop. 

“I’m sorry you had to do that.” Derek offered, but Spencer only shook his head. He reached for a paper towel to dry off his face and hands before crumbling it up and grasping it tightly in his fist. 

“He was rubbing his foot against my thigh.” Spencer said in a rough voice. He scrubbed his hand over his face when Derek looked at him with narrowed, confused eyes. Spencer mumbled ashamedly, “While I was questioning him. He slipped off his shoe and was rubbing his foot against my thigh. And I- I got-” Spencer wouldn't let himself say the words, shaking his head in refusal. 

“You got an erection.” Derek finished for him. When Spencer hid his face in his hands and sniffled, Derek could feel his heart breaking in his chest. He tried to reassure, “Kid, it happens.” 

Spencer wiped at his eyes, his hands shaking as he angrily threw the paper towel in the trash. He took a deep, shuddering breath before he looked up at Derek. In a whisper, he said, “I feel so dirty.” 

Derek sighed and stepped forward to close the distance between the two of them, still keeping his hands at his side. He admitted quietly,“Spencer, if anyone knows that feeling, it’s me.”

Spencer shot Derek a pained look and began to apologize profusely, “I shouldn't have said that. I’m sorry. I- That wasn't- It doesn't come close to what you went through.” 

Derek shook his head and placed his hand on Spencer’s shoulder. He gently rubbed his arm before he told him, “It’s not a competition, you know. All abuse, all.. Inappropriate touching. It’s all the same, kid.”

“That's not true and you know it,” Spencer said tearfully, “I shouldn't be here, like this. Not when you-” 

Derek cut Spencer off abruptly as he tilted his chin up to look into his eyes, whispering, “You don't- You don't have to be strong for me.” He let his hand come up to cup Spencer’s cheek, gingerly rubbing the sharp cheekbone with his thumb. Spencer blinked a few times before his eyes flickered up to Derek’s. He licked his lips mindlessly and, without a thought, leaned in to give Derek a slow, chaste kiss. It was easily returned by Derek, who kept a gentle hand on Spencer’s cheek. 

Pulling back enough so that their lips were just barely touching, Spencer whispered, “Thank you.” He rubbed his nose against Derek’s before ducking down to bury his head in Derek’s shirt. Wordlessly, Derek wrapped his arms around Spencer’s torso and began to rub soothing circles on his back. He looked down at Spencer and couldn't help but feel guilty - guilty for being selfish, guilty for being weak, guilty for putting him in such a compromising position. He felt like he had somehow forced Spencer to take care of him, unaware of just how much joy it brought to Spencer seeing Derek being able to trust in him. He could only think about the pain and havoc he'd caused, and how he never gave Spencer a say in the matter as they spiraled down into the whirlwind side by side. The only way he knew how to fix it was to do what he’d done for so many years; to bury those feelings deep inside of himself- to compartmentalize. 

But he also knew he couldn’t. Stuffing those feelings down further and further is what had gotten him into that mess in the first place. He had to teach himself that feeling didn’t mean being weak; it meant living.   
  
With a firm squeeze to Spencer’s shoulder, Derek slowly retreated and looked at the other man reassuringly. He gave him a gentle, secret smile, one saved for just the two of them, before he slipped his arm around Spencer’s waist and headed out into the station - together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Love cannot live where there is no trust.” Edith Hamilton


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reaaally short chapter but it's 2:30 am and i felt so bad for not updating that i just had to give y'all something. the rest of this will be up soon now that i've got the juices flowin. enjoy!

The first thing Derek noticed when he ascended down the stairs into the cellar of the farmhouse was the repugnant stench of death. Something he had, sickeningly so, grown so accustomed to in his line of work, now had his back stiffening and his blood running cold. The smell itself had no affect on him, however - it was the source of it that had Derek dry heaving. 

In the center of the cellar laid a cold, lifeless body, face down beside a rickety old chair. No one could move or say a word for several long, tantalizing movements as they all grieved for the life lost. They stared helplessly at the body, while Derek couldn't make himself look any longer than he had to. Before anyone could even react, Derek was turning to exit the cellar, forcing back the urge to drive his fist into the hard plaster walls. The word "failure" tormented him, ringing true in his ears with every movement he made. 

A sharp gasp and several sighs of relief from behind Derek had him freezing dead in his tracks. Ever so slowly, he allowed himself to turn around and look at what had his colleagues in such a state. As he faced the body that Rossi was now turning over, Derek took a deep breath and chanced a glimpse at its face. 

Jerome Madison’s cold, lifeless eyes stared right back at Derek, and he couldn't help but let out a heavy breath he didn't know he was holding. Seconds later, he hung his head in shame for being relieved to see another human being dead, the others soon following suit. They remained in silence for a few seconds before looking up; soon, every eye in the room was on Derek. They stared at him with intent, looking as if they were searching for guidance from their fellow agent. Derek was so focused on the feeling of eyes burning into him that he almost didn't hear the barely audible sound of a metal lock rattling. His head perked up the minute he caught wind of the sound, and soon he was rushing towards the source. 

Now deep into the cellar, Derek could see a large wooden door with a rusted lock on it. As he grew closer and closer, the sound became almost deafening, and Derek could see the door being pushed against. Without a second thought, he rushed over to it, leveled his gun, and fired one quick shot to the lock. That was enough to break it off of the door, and with rushed, frantic movements Derek pulled open the heavy door to reveal a trembling figure. 

Darius looked up at Derek with wild eyes, the fright soon draining from them as they fixated on Derek’s. Wordlessly, Derek offered his shaking hand to Darius, who gladly accepted it and clambered to his feet. Darius didn’t even blink before he was enveloping Derek in a bone-crushing hug that neither of them minded. Derek gladly squeezed the other man, clapping him firmly on the shoulder. 

“‘Knew you’d come.” Darius croaked out hoarsely, returning the gesture. Derek let out a heavy, shaky sigh before pulling back to face Darius. He placed both hands on Darius’s shoulders, eyes darting around as he assessed him.

Before Derek could say anything, Darius’s interrupted, “‘Kaiah, is Makaiah okay?” Derek couldn’t help but let out a soft, tearful chuckle at Darius’s sheer selflessness. 

With a nod, Derek responded, “He’s okay. He’s with your dad.” He reassuringly rubbed Darius’s shoulder before hooking his arm around Darius’s weakened body, telling him, “Let’s get you home.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof, thinking of home.” William Faulkner


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for my lull in updates. im feeling a bit discouraged about my writing, so comments are highly appreciated.
> 
> warnings for this chapter include allusion to a child's death. amharic dialogue translations will as always be in the end notes.

The moment Derek saw Darius enter the back of the ambulance, an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He looked around to see the perturbed faces of his teammates, all standing around with the weight of dread bearing down on their shoulders. If he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t entirely sure if he could even handle any more bad news; the dread his teammates felt could not have ever held a candle to the overwhelming guilt and total brokenness that plagued him. 

Derek had no choice, though, but to approach them, albeit with everything but zeal. He remained silent for a tense moment, ignoring the looks he was being shot, before he took a deep breath and decided to say, “Medics say he’ll be fine. He’s dehydrated, probably got a pretty bad concussion, but he should be good to go home tomorrow,” He paused, then added quietly, “To his son.” 

It did not go unnoticed to Derek how everyone, especially JJ and Hotch, seemed to tense up at those simple three words. He narrowed his eyes at the two of them, maintaining a tense bout of eye contact until Rossi blurted, “We found another body.” 

The moment the words tumbled from Rossi’s mouth, the pieces clicked for Derek. He exhaled sharply, eyes looking to his team members desperately. 

Hotch cleared his throat then said with a face as stoic as he could muster, “Our forensic anthropologist hasn’t arrived yet, but.. We know for a fact it’s a child’s bones.” 

“Male,” Spencer piped up abruptly, “Most likely white. His- The pelvis, it’s, um- It’s heart shaped, and from.. What’s left of the skull, I can tell- I can- I'm sorry.” He wouldn’t let himself finish before he was turning his back to the others and scrubbing his hand over his face, adamantly shaking his head. Derek noticed Spencer’s lip began to quiver, and he found his heart aching even more. Not often did Spencer leave his clinical mindspace when it came to analyzing a crime scene. He treated them all like puzzle pieces, more than the others did. Derek knew Spencer processed emotions different than him, than the team, than anybody. For someone with such an overly functioning brain, the unpredictability of emotions as well as the inability to keep them under reign could have him at edge at any moment. 

“I’m gonna see Darius off to the hospital.” Derek said as everyone hung their heads in silence. No one had any objections to his statement, JJ even nodding her head in understanding and offering him a gentle clap on the shoulder. Spencer peeked up at him from behind his hair, exhaling shakily before he gave Derek an encouraging nod. Derek replied with weak smile, glancing over his shoulder one last time as he strode over to the ambulance. 

* * *

The guilt that settled in the pit of Derek’s stomach the moment he saw an IV injected into Darius’s arm, piercing the dull, gray flesh, made Derek unbearable nauseous. Derek stood just outside the room, watching Darius as he was frozen in time. The breaking of Darius’s already damaged soul that shone through his now vacant, disturbed eyes was nearly tangible; Derek himself felt the pieces break inside him, too. 

As he took one last glance at Darius, Derek shook his head at himself in shame before turning down the hospital corridor. He was a few paces down the hallway when he heard a young, familiar voice calling out to him in its native tongue. 

“ _ Weyizerīti _ ?” It called out hesitantly. Derek stopped in his tracks and slowly turned to face the voice’s source. He stared down at little Makaiah who looked up at the man pleadingly, his eyes shiny and desperate. He was unaccompanied, and Derek immediately popped his head around the corner of the hall, but found no sight of the child’s grandfather. 

Suddenly, Makaiah was surging forward to hug Derek around the knees, resting his face against Derek’s stomach. Derek’s hands shook as he reached down apprehensively to squeeze Makaiah’s shoulders. He rubbed Makaiah’s back in slow, stuttering circles as he felt his shirt dampen with tears. Makaiah sniffled, and Derek couldn't' have cared less about the fact that the boy used his shirt as a tissue. Just then, Makaiah looked back up to Derek with those same desperate eyes, now overflowing with admiration.

“ _ Āmeseginalehu _ . Me.. Thanks you.” Makaiah stuttered out, blinking away fresh tears. Derek’s breath hitched in his throat at the words, and he himself felt his own eyes begin to well up with tears. He could only nod at Makaiah, giving him a final pat to his back before the boy was turning on his heels and heading back down the hallway.   
  
As he watched Makaiah scamper off, Derek spotted Kendrick rounding the corner. The two caught each other’s eyes, and what Derek expected to see on Kendrick’s face- hatred, disgrace, anger - was replaced with sheer gratitude. Biting back tears, Kendrick nodded at Derek jerkily before he wrapped his arms around Makaiah and strode into Darius’s room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weyizerīti - mister 
> 
> "Āmeseginalehu." - Thank you.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all im really sorry ive been slacking on the updates. ive just got some stuff goin on with me rn. i foresee an ending in two chapters, though, and then ive already got another fic lined up for you guys (way less heavy than this one, that's for sure). i hope you can forgive me x( enjoy tho! feedback is really appreciated

Derek’s hands trembled as he threw down the manila folder containing the crime scene photos onto the metal table before Hayden Rawlings. He promptly hid the tremor, though, as he crossed his arms across his chest in defiance. He maintained a domineering, intimidating posture, chin high while he stared down at Rawlings with cold eyes. 

“What is this?” Rawlings asked in a wavering voice. When Derek only stared promptly back at Rawlings, the old man reached forward with his fidgeting, wrinkled hands. He slowly flipped open the folder, and immediately his whole body paled dramatically. 

The first photo on the stack of many showed a close distance shot of what was left of the skeleton found in the cellar. A good portion of the skull was missing, a chunk of the left eye socket taken out. The limbs were short and fragile, obviously young; knowing a young child had died, but had not even a face to be remembered had not only Hayden feeling sick looking at the gruesome photos. 

Rawlings refused to look back down at the photos, eyes sliding over to the wall where they became transfixed on every little detail in the beige, chipping paint. His apparent guilt had rage bubbling inside of Derek, and soon he was slamming his fist down on the table to garner Hayden’s attention.

“What’s a matter? Can’t stand to admire your own handywork?” Derek sneered, proceeding to spread out the other photos. “Does this get you off? Huh? Or do you only like little boys when they’re alive?” He shoved one of the close-ups of the fractured skull into Hayden’s direction, panting heavily. 

“You don’t wanna tell me how you bashed his brains in? How you folded him up, broke every part of his body, and disregarded him like garbage?” Derek grabbed another photo, holding it up and shoving it into Hayden’s face. He growled, “Look at him, Hayden. Look at what you did.” 

Rawlings could only shake his head, desperately trying to keep his eyes squeezed shut. Derek was running out of what little patience he had with Rawlings. With that in mind, he let out a low growl and grabbed the arms of the chair Rawlings cowered in, giving it a harsh shove. 

“Did he try to run? Try to tell?" Derek snarled, "Our tech did some digging on you, Hayden. Told us you were a schoolteacher. Was he your student? Did you invite him over for a little extracurricular activity? But he got scared, didn’t he? Said he would tell, and you couldn’t have that, could you? What’d you do about it? You made sure he wouldn’t, made sure he couldn't, tell anyone anything, ever again. Is that right?” Derek snapped in Hayden’s face. 

“Stop it.” Hayden whispered desperately. Derek only scoffed in his face, clenching his jaw angrily.

“‘Stop it’? Is that what he said to you? He told you to stop, told you no, and you couldn’t handle that. Couldn’t handle that he wouldn’t do what you said, so you killed him. You killed him, Hayden. You did this!” Derek slammed his fist down on the table one last time, causing the entire thing to rattle. Hayden had already begun to tear up, his cheeks now damp and shiny. 

“I didn’t mean to! I didn’t mean to,” Hayden sobbed pathetically, “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t- I’m sorry, Charlie, I’m so, so sorry.” He erupted into hysterics as he let his fingers brush over the sharp edge of one of the photos. The image soon had him burying his face into his hands and sobbing. Derek could only stare at him in sheer disgust, so repulsed by Rawlings that he almost didn’t hear the words that had fallen from the man's mouth. 

Derek spared no words for Hayden as he turned his back on him and promptly exited the interrogation room. As he stepped into the viewing room, he was met with the sympathetic faces of his team members. Without a word, he gave them a curt nod and left the room, heading down the hall towards Garcia’s makeshift tech lair. He paused in front of the door with his hand raised to knock, willing himself to cease the tremors that wracked his body. He had to shake his head a few times to regain his composure before he finally simply reached for the doorknob and pushed his way inside. 

The minute Penelope heard the door open her head snapped up, eyes darting over to Derek. She gave him a gentle, hesitant smile, silently beckoning him inside with a jerk of the head. He gladly obliged with a soft sigh of relief. He leant against one of the file cabinets in the corner facing Penelope, who greeted him lightly, “Hey, love.” 

Derek’s smile, although small, was warm and genuine, a rare sight after the past week. He looked to his friend with great fondness until his nerves overcame him and he began to chew on his lip anxiously. He cleared his throat before revealing, “We got a name for Johnny Doe. Charlie.” 

Derek didn’t miss Penelope’s immediate frown, and it certainly didn’t go unnoticed how quickly she forced that same smile back onto her face - for Derek’s sake. She situated herself in front of the computer, opening up the Exploited and Missing Children’s site. Her fingers flew  across the keys and entered the search parameters with intent. It took a moment for the results to pop up, and neither of them could help but let out frustrated sighs. 

“That’s a lot of names.” Penelope stated obviously, lips pursed in thought. Derek scooched closer to her, eyes scanning the screen. 

“Can you search for what circumstances they went missing under?” Derek questioned as he sorted through each name - there were about twenty, and while that was a start, it sure wasn’t enough for an identification. Next to him, Penelope snorted.

“Can I- Honey, is Brad still in love with Jennifer?” She told him incredulously with a shake of the head. Derek actually barked out a laugh at that, the sound thoroughly surprising Penelope. 

“C’mon, you know I’m team Angie.” Derek teased back lightly. The two shared a few chuckles, and when the laughter eventually died down, a solemn look spread across Penelope’s face. She smiled sadly up at Derek and reached for his hand. 

As she intertwined her fingers with his, she sighed and said quietly, “I miss you.” Derek pressed his lips together, unsure of how to even respond. He saw the desperate look on Penelope’s face, the evident amount of pain putting cracks in his already damaged heart. 

He nodded in response and let out a quiet, “Me too.” Though, he wasn’t sure if it was she who he missed. 

Penelope gave Derek’s hand a final squeeze before she turned back to the computer and began to type away once again. Derek found himself zoning out to the sound, getting lost in his mind like he so often did. His night spent with Spencer, in which he revealed how he was unsure if he’d ever be able to be the same after all that had happened, began to replay in his head. He felt that same desperate feeling, that same longing for his former, lively self. His job took its toll on his mental health already, but he knew he could deal with the repercussions if it meant saving lives and bringing those lost justice. 

But there was no justice for men and boys like him. He knew so few cases of male sexual abuse, only 1%, ever resulted in a conviction. The system couldn’t even get Carl on molestation; he was jailed solely for the murders he committed. Derek never, truly, received justice. And he would never lie that it had made him bitter. It had hardened him in places that were once soft and carefree. He was never, and knew he’d never in the future, be able to forgive and move on. Truthfully, he was just taking things one step at a time - but he knew he’d never accept what happened to him. 

So maybe the recent events weren’t the cause of his resentment, his bitterness, but rather the catalyst for their revival. He buried those dark feelings of hatred just like he buried his shame, knowing that, in his mind, those were signs of weakness, signs that he let Buford win. He needed reminder, though, that those feelings did not make him a bad survivor, did not reduce him to merely a victim all over again - and there was Spencer, reminding Derek his ability to overcome, but not let go, made him stronger than ever before. 

Derek held those words close to his heart as he waited for the results to pop up on Penelope’s screen. After a minute of loading, the screen was flooded with case reports, highlighting when, where, and how each child had disappeared.  

“Well, five of them were taken from their own homes.” Penelope said sadly. Derek shook his head at that in response. 

“Rawlings isn’t that brazen. He’s insecure, not a lot of confidence. He wouldn’t risk it.” He refuted. Penelope nodded and continued to skim through the files. 

Her eyes landed on one in particular and she said, “There’s a lot of park abductions, public places. But this guy’s shy, right? He wouldn’t take a kid in broad daylight like that.” Derek nodded in agreement, smiling slyly and a bit proudly at his friend. 

“Charlie Sparks went missing on his way home from school,” she said as he pulled up a new file, “‘85. No suspects, no leads, no body ever found.” Derek’s breath hitched in his throat at the words, a bad feeling settling in the pit of his stomach; he knew without even having to look. 

“The parents?” Derek asked around the lump in his throat. When Penelope’s face fell as she read through the file, Derek exhaled sharply and squeezed his eyes shut. 

“His dad, Michael Earlson, committed suicide in ‘92,” she revealed solemnly, “No other relatives.” She looked up at Derek, hopelessness in her wide, now tearful, eyes. Derek could only clench his jaw - and his fists - as his breathing grew erratic. 

“They gave up on him. It took 30 years for someone to even-” He said through clenched teeth, cutting himself off at the end. Penelope chewed her lip as she eyed him warily before she hesitantly placed her hand gently his arm. 

“But  _ you  _ didn’t.” She told him quietly. Derek looked down at her and considered her for a moment before he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He patted her hand before slipping his arm out from underneath her grip and slinking out the door. He paused in the doorway, though, when Penelope softly called out his name. He turned to look at her, eyes hollow. 

“I- Hotch told me not to tell you, but.. I found 27 of the sickos who-” Her lip began to tremble, voice wavering as she continued, “Local PDs apprehended 19 of them. They’re gonna go away for a long time. I- I thought that might help.” 

Derek stared back at Penelope for quite some time, a blank expression on his face, before he forced a tight lipped smile in her direction.   
  
“It does,” he lied efficiently, “Thank you.” Penelope matched his tired, lifeless smile, her heart aching as she watched Derek leave without another word. 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive had a helluva week, so im sorry for such a late update. my internet and cable got shut off so i wasnt able to write for a while since all of my work is in drive, which is online (shit idea on my part lol) this chapter was supposed to be way longer but i wanted to give y'all somethin since i have work all next week and there wouldn't be a new chapter at all. i promise ill get this done soon, though. we're reaaally close to the end here!

Derek’s fingers drummed across the outside of the coffee cup he held firmly in his nervous hand. With his other, he reached for the handle to the second interrogation room, where Malik Madison sat motionless in the rigid metal chair. Derek pushed his way inside, noting how Malik seemed to not even hear the door click behind him. 

Derek could immediately tell there was something different, something off, with Malik. His eyes, once frenzied and wild, were now completely void of anything; it was like he held no soul behind them. It looked like he was barely breathing with how still he sat, all of his muscles taut and tense. Even the sound of Derek clearing his throat did not rouse Malik from whatever dissociated state he was in. 

Derek apprehensively took a seat in front of Malik, trying to get a look at him. Malik wouldn’t meet his eyes, though, seeming to be completely enthralled with staring blankly at the metal table. Chewing on his bottom lip in thought, Derek placed the now most likely tepid coffee down on the table, sliding it over to Malik. 

“You must be tired.” Derek stated awkwardly. He at least garnered a slow blink from Malik, who looked up for a split second and shrugged. Derek shifted uncomfortably in his seat, Malik’s cold stare setting him suspiciously on edge. 

Hesitantly, Derek asked, “Do you know where you are?” Malik didn’t seem surprised by the question, nor concerned with the tone of Derek’s voice. 

“Police station.” He replied in a blase voice. Derek lips twitched into a frown before he pressed them together in a hard line as he sat for a beat in silence. 

“Do you know why you’re here?” Derek inquired once more. 

Again, Malik only shrugged and said, his tone somewhat smug,  “Another fight? Looks like I won, though.” Derek sucked in a sharp breath at the response, holding it in for a few seconds before he sighed heavily. 

“You could say that.” Derek said in a low murmur. Malik cocked his head in confusion, but otherwise stayed silent. The only sounds that filled the room after the two had exchanged those brief words were the drumming of Derek’s fingers on the table, and his heartbeat loud in his ears. 

Finally, Derek spoke, “You’re here because we may need your help.” Of course, Malik was just as confused as before, eyes still narrowed suspiciously. Derek looked down and pursed his lips as he leaned in closer to Malik.

His hands gripped the edge of the table tightly as he said, “You know a thing or two about code, don’t you? Hacking, and whatnot?”

That gained the attention of Malik, who said slowly, “You could say that. What is this about?” Derek inhaled sharply but gave Malik no reply, instead turning to face the two-way glass. He wiggled his fingers at whoever was behind it listening in, hoping his signal was well received. 

After a few, palpably tense, moments, the door to the interrogation room creaked open to reveal one of the officers holding an open laptop and an empty-handed Hotch, standing in the door frame. Derek nodded at the two, taking a glance over his shoulder at Malik before he approached them. The officer offered Derek the laptop, exiting the room without another word. Hotch looked to Derek with his lips pressed together in a frown. Derek was a bit surprised to see him at such a loss for words, but he supposed there wasn’t really much to say in their circumstance. 

Hotch finally leaned in close to reveal to Derek in a low whisper, “Garcia’s on the other side of the door.” He placed his hand on Derek’s shoulder for a quick second before retreating silently from the room, leaving Derek and Malik to their own devices. 

Derek stepped forward to place the laptop down on the table, the screen that held line after line of obscure code facing Malik. He took a seat in the chair opposite to Malik, whose eyes scanned the screen at a rapid rate. 

“This is.. Really complex,” Malik sufficed, “where’d you find this?” Derek shifted uncomfortably in the metal chair, his visible apprehension obvious to Malik. 

Derek said simply, “The contents of this site promote illegal activity. I just need to know if you’re capable of infiltrating it and aiding us in taking it down.” Malik look at Derek warily, but he scooted his chair closer to the table to look closer at the site’s wall of code regardless. At that moment, Derek couldn’t help but realize just how young and innocent Malik looked, his small frame hunched over with his small, flat  nose scrunched up in concentration. He was still just a child - not the monster Derek thought him to be. 

“This is gonna, like, take a while. You know that, right?” Malik stated plainly, causing Derek’s head to snap up as he shook himself out of his little daydream. He gave Malik a nod and leaned back in the chair, arms splayed behind his head.  
  
“I’ve got all night, kid.” Derek tried to say nonchalantly with a jerky shrug. He garnered a quiet, airy laugh from Malik, who rolled his eyes and went back to overlooking the code, just as Derek tried to shake away the overwhelming dread and anxiety that snuck up on him suddenly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Come away, O human child! / To the waters and the wild / With a faery, hand in hand / For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.” ― W.B. Yeats


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The greater the obstacle, the more glory in overcoming it.” ― Molière

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very sad chapter with a hint of hope. if anyone's curious about malik's characterization and actions, read up somewhat on dissociation here: http://www.healthyplace.com/abuse/dissociative-identity-disorder/definition-of-dissociation-symptoms-causes-treatments/   
> in the state he's in, he is completely unaware of what he's done and what has happened to him. it is an internal coping and defense mechanism many trauma survivors use subconsciously, as their brains cannot comprehend the trauma. we'll see how this turns out next chapter, which will be the last. thanks so much for reading, enjoy!

Dozens of empty coffee cups littered the table of the interrogation room where around it Derek and Malik sat in a taut silence. The only sound that filled the room was that of keys clicking as Malik’s expert hands flew over the keyboard of the laptop. He hadn’t spoken a single word of substance since their prior exchange, too immersed in his time-consuming work. Derek had only simply watched Malik work for most of the night, taking idle sips of his own coffee as he observed Malik with sad eyes.

“You’re freaking me out a little.” Malik finally spoke as he felt Derek's eyes burning into him. Derek blinked a couple of times, the words catching up with his thoughts. He didn’t speak, though, just gave Malik a quiet huff to indicate he heard his statement. Malik laughed quietly at that and shook his head. 

“You’re not a cop.” He commented with certainty, not looking up. His eyes continued to roam the screen casually. 

Derek pursed his lips for a moment before he nodded and confirmed curtly, “Fed.” 

The revelation had Malik’s typing slowing to a halt, and he was soon looking up at Derek confusedly. With his head cocked to the side, he asked, “What do the Feds want with a teenager from Chi-Town?” 

Derek sucked in a sharp breath at that, holding it in for a few beats before letting it out in a long, heavy sigh. Malik eyed him suspiciously, but Derek couldn’t meet his wary eyes. He picked at the Styrofoam of his cup, idle fingers drumming on the table. He had a choice - to ruin Malik’s life even further by bringing him back to reality, or to drive him further away from it. Both options were equally daunting, and Derek wracked his mind for a solution.

Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke in a level tone, “Trust that the FBI knows what we’re doing.” Malik scoffed at Derek’s cryptic words, shaking his head to himself.

“Right,” he grumbled, “and I’m just supposed to do what you say? Don’t I have rights? Shit, what’s even on this site that’s so important you have to keep me here?” 

Derek once again looked at Malik with sad, tired eyes, unsure how to answer his questions. Of course, he could easily tell the truth. He could tell Malik about all he had done, how he’d ruined Derek’s life in the name of vengeance, endangered one man’s life and taken the life of another. But he was a child - a scared, abused, traumatized child, whose brain had no idea how to handle the amount of psychological scarring that plagued him. Derek knew, of course, Malik would have to face the consequences of his actions, his sentence without a doubt carried out in a psychiatric ward. He wished to prolong the inevitability of the truth, though, to try to maintain that tiny shred of innocence Malik still held onto. 

“Child pornography.” Derek settled on, staring stoically at Malik. Malik’s face fell at the words, something unreadable flashing behind his eyes. The two held a tense bout of eye contact, Derek holding his breath throughout the exchange, waiting for the impending breakdown that never came. 

Instead, Malik said in a quiet, meek voice, “Sorry.” Derek gave him a slow, short nod, averting his gaze back down at the table. 

The room was once again plunged into silence, the monotonous clicking of the keys drowned out by Derek’s rampant thoughts. He continued to fidget impatiently, his palpable discomfort appearing to Malik. Malik didn’t speak anything of it, though, and continued to busy himself with typing along, for which Derek was incredibly grateful for. 

After what felt like hours, Malik’s hands finally stilled and from Derek’s seat across the way, he could see the screen changing on the shadow of Malik’s face. He watched as the lines of code suddenly disappeared, and a large smirk spread across Malik’s face. It soon fell, though, and was replaced with a somber look. 

“There.” He said plainly, turning the laptop to show Derek the otherwise blank home screen, an error message in the center. Derek could almost feel tears welling up in his eyes as he stared back at the glaring screen. 

He knew he should feel something - some sort of weight lifted from his shoulders. It was over. It should be over, but it couldn’t be. Pieces of him were still missing, still stolen from him, never to be recovered. The damage had already been done, every inch of his body and soul in dirty, anonymous hands. They twisted and turned his pain into something even more wicked, more malevolent. The worst moments of his life, the memories he’d try to repress, the shame, the disgust, the anger, replayed as spun fantasies in the minds of thousands’ of individuals. They owned him, essentially; they snatched the good and the bad away, leaving Derek hollow and terrified, void of hope and unsure of what to do next. 

A single word and a few clicks had ended an excruciating chapter of his life, just how mere vengeance and dedication had begun it. The blank screen stared at Derek tauntingly, challenging him. It ignited nothing inside of him, though - no anger, nor sadness or relief. He caught his reflection in the screen and saw the same empty, blank contents of the site directly in his own eyes. He found no trace of his former self in his once fierce and passionate eyes, and he had never felt so broken than in that moment. 

The world seemed to melt away as Derek stared on, oblivious to the world around him. He missed the sound of Malik clearing his throat, as well as the heavy door creaking open. Footsteps resonated somewhere in his mind, but his eyes still remained transfixed on the screen, legs frozen in place and unwilling to move. What he didn’t miss, though, was Malik’s wary, yet sad, voice call out to him softly.

“I hope you find who did this.” Malik swallowed dryly as he observed Derek, eyes confused and concerned. His voice had Derek slowly raising his head, and soon the two were staring back at one another. Malik’s face was blurry and warped in Derek’s eyes, and he had to blink several times to rid himself of the tears obstructing his vision. Malik’s mouth was agape in shock and confusion, and he looked at Derek with a twisted form of pity.

“Yeah,” Derek choked out, his voice not even sounding like his own, “I hope we do, too.” Those simple words were all he could manage before he was stumbling back towards the door, brushing past a flustered Spencer in the process. 

Derek found his trembling legs carrying him to the closest secluded room, threatening to give out at any moment. Spencer’s quiet and apprehensive footsteps following him close behind registered in his mind, but Derek could barely hear over his head pounding and heart threatening to break free of the confines of his chest. His mind was swimming, screaming garbled thoughts and accusations at him, none of which he could decipher. He yearned for silence, for the numbness he had felt before, as all his emotions bubbled to the surface. He only knew of one thing he could do to keep his head above water.

In an instant, Derek was spinning around and grabbing Spencer by the back of the neck, clutching him desperately to his chest. He found it that much easier to breath with his face buried in Spencer’s neck, the scent of home welcoming him. Spencer didn’t even blink as he returned the gesture, keeping Derek cradled in the tight embrace. 

“You did it.” Spencer whispered against Derek’s head, pressing a firm kiss just above Derek’s ear. Derek shuddered in his arms and a low, soul-crushing moan racked his body. He cried silently, only letting out an audible sob when Spencer affirmed, “You won.” 

The two words left Derek gasping for breath, his lungs on fire as sobs wracked his body. He allowed himself a few moments to cry unashamedly into Spencer’s shirt before his wailing dwindled into hiccups. He pulled back just enough to look at Spencer with wide, watery eyes, just filled with the slightest shimmer of hope.  
  
“I won.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “He who is not everyday conquering some fear has not learned the secret of life.” ― Shannon L. Alder


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god guys this is it, the last chapter. i honestly can't believe i really wrote all this - 120 pages, over 50k words. i wanna thank all of you who have kept up from the beginning, as well as those of you just now joining in, for encouraging me. there were times where i didn't feel like finishing this, but i'm so glad i did. i love all y'all and greatly appreciate your feedback! till next time :')
> 
> note: translations for amharic dialogue can be found here: https://goo.gl/iCMRLK

Derek tapped his foot impatiently as he sat in the beige waiting room of the generic office building located on a familiar street in the town of Chicago. Continuing to shift uncomfortably in the cushioned chair, he watched the minutes tick by on the clock, waiting for the wooden door that rested before him to open. Even after the hours he had accumulated spent in that waiting room over the past six months, the sound of the door creaking open still set him on edge. 

After what felt like eternity, yet somehow not long enough simultaneously, Derek heard the handle to the door being jingled. The door’s hinges gave a small whine as the door was pushed open to reveal a figure standing tall in the doorway. 

Dr. Tara Lewis’ face was, as always, kind and easy on the eyes as she smiled warm and genuinely at Derek. She stepped out of the doorway, beckoning Derek into the hallway while greeting him with a polite, “Hello, Derek.” 

Derek nodded as he acknowledged her, smiling back weakly. The two traveled back to Dr. Lewis’ office, where Derek took a seat on the large red couch at the far end of the room. Dr. Lewis sat before him in a comfortable looking arm chair, her hands folded formally in her lap. 

“How have you been?” She asked standardly, maintaining eye contact with Derek. 

“I’m.. okay,” Derek replied weakly, “Not the greatest, but, given the circumstances, not too bad.” 

Dr. Lewis nodded her understanding, then asked, “How are your nightmares?” Derek winced at the question, then sighed, looking down at his hands. 

They had dwindled down to only a few times a week instead of every night - that is, if he ever even slept those nights - but they were still just as intense. Though, the flashbacks trumped the nightmares. It seemed like nothing else could ever be worse than being trapped in his own personal hell, right inside his mind, but the everyday sights, sounds, smells, and events that triggered the feeling of clammy, calloused hands roaming Derek’s body. 

Derek revealed this, although sheepishly, to Dr. Lewis. She frowned, obviously concerned, but the glint in her eye showed the hope she had for Derek’s recovery. Derek felt both grateful and discouraged by Dr. Lewis’ blind faith in him. Grateful, because maybe he himself could learn to see beyond the trauma to reigned over his life - but discouraged, because he knew not only he had a long, long way to go, but that he somehow felt he didn't deserve it anyway. 

Noticing Derek becoming lost in thought, like he so often did those days, Dr. Lewis brought up a distraction, “How’s Spencer?” Derek blushed the moment his head perked up and he heard Dr. Lewis laugh at his eagerness. 

He smiled softly nonetheless, and began to speak easily of Spencer, “He’s good. Still leaving his stuff around everywhere.” Derek gave a soft chuckle, one that Dr. Lewis easily joined in on. Once again, though, Derek seemed to be lost in his own mind. 

“There was, um,” Derek cleared his throat, “That was something I kinda wanted to talk about.” Dr. Lewis acknowledged Derek with a nod, giving him the go ahead to speak. 

“I- You know, we- We stay in the same bed. Obviously. We didn't at first but.. I’d get so scared at night.” Derek found his voice cracking on the last word, and he had to shake his head to regain his composure, “It's not, like, a really big deal, you know? Like, it doesn't upset me. Doesn’t.. Trigger me, I guess. The opposite, actually.” He looked up to Dr. Lewis expectantly, hoping she’d get the gist of what he was saying. 

She seemed to, as she observed, “You enjoy being close with him.” 

Derek affirmed with a nod, then added in a meek voice, “In more ways than one.”  

Again, Dr. Lewis was smiling that kind, easy smile. Her demeanor always made Derek feel safe, regardless of his feelings towards therapy and opening up. Seeing that smile made it just that much easier to let his walls down. 

“But,” Derek began, somewhat annoyedly, “I don't think  _ he _ does. I mean, ever since I- since  _ we  _ resigned and moved out here, we haven't-” Derek paused, then threw his hands up helplessly. 

“You haven't been having sex.” Dr. Lewis finished for Derek. Derek inhaled sharply at that, holding his breath with his jaw clenched before he sighed heavily and nodded. 

“Not since that night I told you about. I was.. A wreck then, but now? Now I think I’m ready to really enjoy that part of my life again.” Dr. Lewis seemed pleased with Derek’s sincerity, even as he continued, “And it’s not for lack of trying on my part, either. It’s like I’m always on him about it. The other night I even outright asked him if we could, but all he did was.. Smile. You know, that smile people give you when they feel bad for you.” 

Dr. Lewis pursed her lips then asked, “Why do you think he feels sorry for you?” 

Derek couldn't help but grow annoyed with the mind games he knew Dr. Lewis was playing. “Because he thinks I’m weak, or broken. That I don't know what I want, like I’m some kind of child.” 

“Is that how you feel about yourself?” Dr. Lewis continued, despite Derek’s frustrated huff. He glared pointedly at her, but she only stared back with her eyebrow cocked. 

“Don't do that.” Derek said, an edge to his voice. Dr. Lewis’ lips twitched into something resembling a grin, but she backed off in the end, putting her hands up in mock surrender. Derek conveyed his thankfulness in silence as he looked to Dr. Lewis almost shyly from behind his lashes. 

After a few moments of silent, internal debate, Derek cleared his throat and revealed, “I know that what happened with him _ - _ ” Derek cut himself off with a thick swallow, then clarified, “With  _ Carl _ , and with.. Everything else, changed me. Of course it did. And I learned the first time around that that would carry into my relationships, that it was possible I wouldn't ever be ready for that. But I think I am. I feel like I’m ready, and yet it's like it's being denied to me. Like I don't deserve it.” 

“You may be ready, but that doesn't mean Spencer is, Derek.” Dr. Lewis said softly. Derek furrowed his eyebrows at her, an angry crease forming in his forehead. 

“What's he got to be ready for? This didn't happen to him.” Derek replied bitterly. 

The moment the words left his mouth he instantly felt bad, but over the months he had grown to realize things said between him and Dr. Lewis were not only in confidence, but could be spoken freely without judgement. No matter how harsh he was, he slowly began to understand that Dr. Lewis’ kindness and persistence had nothing to do with just getting a paycheck; she genuinely cared for Derek. Even after so many months of him verbally spitting in her face, she never gave up on him. She continued to ask the tough questions, even if they made Derek hate her, so that at the end of the day, it'd be her that he called when the world became too cold. 

“Do you think Spencer cares about you?” Dr. Lewis asked, suddenly and simply. Derek only narrowed his eyes further as he gave a slow, hesitant nod. 

“When you care for someone, you want to protect them, yes?” Derek nodded once again, the gears in his head turning as Dr. Lewis continued to shoot hypotheticals at him. 

“And you want what's best for them?” Another nod from Derek had Dr. Lewis softly smiling as she leaned in closer to Derek, elbows propped up on her knees so she could place her chin in her hands. 

“Then don't you think Spencer, in his own way, is trying to protect you? Maybe even from himself?” 

Derek sighed and threw his hands up in exasperation, exclaiming, “He’s not my fucking babysitter!”

Dr. Lewis frowned softly and held up her hand, not to silence Derek, but to let him know her intentions were pure. She said, “No, he isn't. And you don't need one, either. You are a grown man and a strong person who has overcome a lot of obstacles. But you've been through trauma, and that changes you, and the people around you realize that.” 

Derek was biting down hard on the inside of his lip as Dr. Lewis continued to speak, “Don’t you think it’s possible that Spencer is.. Afraid for you?” 

That insinuation had Derek fighting the urge to surge to his feet and blow up in Dr. Lewis’ face. A part of him knew, though, she was right, as always. Spencer cared deeply for Derek, and Derek, after traveling down a long, long road leading towards self-acceptance, had grown to understand and accept that. Like Dr. Lewis had said, Spencer always wanted what was best for Derek, even before all that had happened to them. He did so many little things for Derek, like getting him tea to calm his nerves, or cooking for him when he began to skip meals. He did everything without a single complaint on his own behalf, and never so much as expected a ‘thank you’ from Derek; he did everything out of the kindness of his own heart.  So Derek knew, of course, that Spencer feared for his safety and wellbeing - and that maybe Spencer thought he was the one who could ruin it all. 

Instead of letting his anger get the better of him, Derek kept his mouth shut, allowing Dr. Lewis to speak her mind, knowing she always kept Derek in her best interest - just like Spencer. 

“All I’m saying, Derek,” Dr. Lewis said, taking on a gentler tone, “is talk to him. Be open with him. Hell, if you can talk to me, you can say anything to him. I’m one scary gal sometimes, huh?” She joked lightly, smiling when even Derek gave a quiet chuckle. 

“Tell me about it.” Derek jibed back, donning his own smile. They both shared a knowing look with each other, their easy smiles mirrored. Derek’s faded a bit, though, when his eyes slid over to the clock. 

“I’ve gotta go.” He said as he rose to his feet suddenly. 

Dr. Lewis frowned, saying, “But we still have ten minutes.” Derek simply shook his head, gathering himself as he walked to the door.

“I’ve got someone- somewhere to be.” Derek told her pointedly, stopped in the doorway. 

Dr. Lewis paused for a moment, then stood as well. Her lips were pressed together in a tight line as she eyed Derek suspiciously, but she didn’t say anything other than, “Good luck.” 

* * *

Outside, Spencer waited patiently in the driver’s seat of Derek’s Bronco, a large hardcover book opened in his lap. Derek approached the vehicle just as Spencer was turning the page, and by the time he had climbed into the passenger’s seat, Spencer had already flipped four more pages without so much as blinking. The only thing that garnered his attention was Derek’s soft chuckle. He jumped practically a foot in the air, book clattering to the floor of the car.

“We’ve _got_ to work on your people skills.” Spencer said, trying to catch his breath. Derek only rolled his eyes and settled into the seat. He buckled up his seat belt and leaned back into the headrest with a soft sigh. As Spencer gathered up the book and did his belt up as well, he narrowed his eyes at Derek, then stiffened. 

“Are we going?” Spencer asked hesitantly with his lip pulled between his teeth. Derek let out another heavy sigh before lulling his head to the side to get a look at Spencer. He nodded, ever so slowly, before closing his eyes tightly, the subject dropped as Spencer gave a short nod and started the ignition. 

The home at the end of the winding road Derek and Spencer pulled up to evoked feelings of dreadful nostalgia inside both of them. They each took a deep breath, but it seemed like Derek held his for a beat longer than Spencer. With a shaky exhale, Derek gave Spencer one last glance before he placed his hand over Spencer’s reassuringly. 

“I’ll be okay.” Derek said quietly, looking down at where his hand rested atop Spencer’s. He gingerly traced a few shaky circles on Spencer’s wrist before peeking back up at him. Spencer was watching Derek with concern, still wearing that same smile Derek had described to Dr. Lewis just moments earlier. 

Giving Spencer’s hand one last pat, Derek undid his seat belt and climbed out of the car on wavering legs that threatened to give out the moment he saw a figure round the corner of the yard. He was frozen in place, feeling like the air had been knocked out of him with one swift punch to his stomach. He held his breath as the figure’s eyes landed on him, his vision swimming as his own eyes welled up with tears. He had to force back a heavy sob when he heard, “You made it.” 

Darius’s wide smile now replaced every image Derek’s brain had conjured up of Darius’s broken and bruised body that Derek had found lying on the concrete of Hayden Rawlings’ cellar. He looked much healthier than when Derek had last saw him, but that was setting the bar quite low given the circumstances of the time. His body was toned and impressive, no longer depleted looking from days gone without food or water. Seeing Darius’s now healthy, beautiful dark complexion, Derek could finally erase the image of Darius’s sullen and dull graying skin. The juxtaposition left Derek breathless. 

Derek was at a loss for words as he could only stare back at Darius, who had begun to narrow his eyes, albeit still maintaining his smile. When Derek still didn’t say anything, Darius gave a soft, nervous chuckle as he began to rub the back of his neck.

“I look damn fine, I know.” Darius joked, gesturing to his old, ripped jeans and flour stained T-shirt. Derek snorted at that and shook his head as he wiped at his eyes discreetly before heading over to Darius. He threw his arms over Darius’s shoulders without a word and sighed happily when he felt Darius squeeze him back just as hard.

“Yeah,” Derek croaked out, “Yeah, you do.” They both shared a laugh at that, each giving the other a heavy clap on the shoulder. 

“Come ‘n see the birthday boy.” Darius said as he pulled away from Derek’s embrace. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the back of the yard, where Derek could see some movement and hear indistinct chatter. He peered over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of Spencer, who was smiling at him encouragingly. Darius, seeming to notice Derek’s hesitance, craned his neck to see what Derek was looking at. 

“You brought him?” Darius asked, his voice wary but not accusatory. Derek snapped his head back to face Darius, where he paused for a moment and then nodded shyly. Darius looked like he was contemplating something, his lip pulled between his white teeth, before he shrugged and waved Spencer on, “He don’t got to wait in the car, you know.” 

Derek’s eyes widened a bit at Darius’s quick acceptance, but a grin slowly spread across his face regardless. He turned towards the car and gave Spencer a beckoning hand gesture as well, laughing quietly when Spencer looked over his shoulder then pointed to himself, mouthing, “Me?” 

When both Darius and Derek nodded, Spencer scrambled to get out of the car, only causing the other two men to throw their head backs and laugh as he tripped on the curb. Spencer half jogged up to Derek and Darius, a dopey grin plastered across his face. Darius looked to Derek with a cocked eyebrow, but Derek just shrugged and welcomed Spencer.

“Long time no see.” Darius greeted with a small grin.

Spencer nodded enthusiastically, fidgeting with his hands as he said, “Yeah. Yeah, no, I- Sorry, I’m- Hi.” 

As if on cue, both Darius and Derek snorted, shaking their heads at Spencer. Wordlessly, Darius beckoned Spencer and Derek to the back of the yard as he turned on his heels and began to walk. Spencer and Derek followed suit, Spencer, of course, tripping over Makaiah’s playhouse on the way. 

The moment they entered the backyard, all chatter stopped and everyone’s eyes became fixed on Spencer. Darius and Derek had to suppress their laughter, all the while Spencer began to shift uncomfortably under the scrutiny. 

_ “Irisuni inidinasitawisi ātibeli.” _ Darius said to the crowd. 

Spencer nodded his agreement, adding a polite,  _ “Selami.” _ Laughter spread throughout the crowd at Spencer’s pathetic accent, but a few of them shot him soft, kind smiles. 

Spencer was blushing intensely, but Derek was smiling at him endearingly. He didn’t hesitate to throw his arm around Spencer’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Darius’s eyes narrowed as he watched the two, but neither of them really seemed to notice. They were all distracted by the sudden sound of grass and leaves crunching beneath little feet as Makaiah approached the trio. 

_ “Tadīyasi!” _ He greeted enthusiastically, waving frantically. Darius laughed at his son and bent down to hoist him up onto his hip with an exaggerated groan. 

“Gettin’ heavy, boy.  _ Kebadi.”  _ Darius told Makaiah teasingly with a jab to his stomach. Makaiah squealed and began to laugh incessantly, the sound warming everyone’s hearts.

“ _ Pami _ been givin’ you sugar?” Darius asked in a mock serious tone, earning a frantic and unashamed nod from Makaiah. 

_ “ _ _ Ibidi liji.” _ Darius mumbled with a shake of the head. “Hey, what do we say to our guests?” 

Makaiah looked a bit flustered as he said slowly, “Thank you for came-ing.” 

“Coming, buddy. ‘Thank you for coming’.” Darius corrected, ruffling Makaiah’s wild hair. Makaiah nodded thoughtfully, then began to wiggle out of his father’s arms. 

As his feet touched the ground, he rushed over to Spencer and took his hand, exclaiming  _ “Āch’awiti!” _ He was tugging Spencer over towards the playhouse before anyone could even react. Spencer gulped and looked helplessly to Darius and Derek, who only smirked at him as he was dragged away. 

For the duration of the party, Spencer was occupied with playing with Makaiah and conversing, albeit poorly, with the guests. Darius and Derek stayed close most of the time, Darius introducing Derek to his friends and family. Just as the sun began to set, most of the guests had dispersed, leaving Spencer with Makaiah, and Derek and Darius alone on the back porch. They each had a beer in their hand as they watched the night fall over the small neighborhood. 

After some time of sitting in silence, Darius finally spoke, "'Was surprised to hear when I called your boss that you quit. Didn't know you were out here, neither."

Derek gave Darius a tight lipped smile and nodded, explaining, "I wanted to be closer to my family, you know?"

Darius nodded and gave a mumbled, "Yeah, I know." He chewed on his lip for a minute before he added, "Just didn't expect you to.. I don't know, drop everything and come 'ere. With him, nonetheless." He gestured with his bottle towards Spencer, who was engaged in quite the animated game of play pretend. He didn't seem to notice how Derek went stiff at the mention of Spencer. 

"So like, what’s the deal with him anyways?” Darius asked after a beat. 

Derek swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly feeling dry. He tapped his fingernails against the bottle in thought, then answered cryptically, “What do you mean?” 

Darius chuckled at that and shook his head, replying, “C’mon, you know what I mean. Is he.. Y’know?” 

Derek turned to Darius with wide eyes, worrying his lip between his teeth. His cheeks were flushed with embarrassment and anxiety, and Darius quickly picked up on it.

“Oh.  _ Oh _ .” Darius’s back stiffened and immediately his eyes darted over to where Spencer and Makaiah were playing. When Spencer offered Makaiah a high-five, Darius let out a frightening low growl and moved to leap to his feet. Derek braced his arm across Darius’s chest to stop him, though, and tried to ignore the sting inside of him when Darius yelped and jerked away from his touch. 

“He’s not like that,” Derek defended carefully, “I’m not like that. You know that.” 

Darius stared back at Derek with his jaw clenched, eyes reluctantly leaving Makaiah. Where Derek expected to see disgust, though, there was something peculiar, something hopeful yet hesitant. 

“Is it ‘cause of him?” Darius asked slowly. Derek expected the question, having asked himself it too many times than he could count. 

“No,” Derek shook his head, “I think I was always.. I guess I just didn’t wanna admit it. And that, that’s because of him. He made me ashamed, made me think what you’re thinking - that I was like him. But I’m not. I’m not.” Derek’s voice had trailed into a hoarse whisper towards the end as he reassured himself. He looked down at his hands, only to notice they were plagued by a slight tremble. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Darius nodding dubiously.

“How’d you know?” Darius asked quietly, almost shyly. When Derek looked back up, he could see Darius was almost blushing. 

Derek poked his tongue against his cheek in thought before he grinned sheepishly and jerked his head over towards Spencer. The sound of Darius snorting had Derek furrowing his eyebrows, but judging by the grin he was donning, Derek could tell it wasn’t out of malice.

“My man, you could do so much better.” Darius teased. 

Derek rolled his eyes, saying with a laugh, “He’s goofy lookin’, I know.” Darius hummed his agreement and leaned back with a soft sigh. He took on a more serious, stoic demeanor then, looking like he was lost deep in thought. Derek frowned and cocked his head to the side, looking at Darius concernedly. 

Darius’s eyes darted over to Derek and he gave another sigh before he whispered, “What if I’m…?” 

Derek’s eyes widened a bit, but he quickly concealed his surprise. He pressed his lips together, then hesitantly asked, “Well, are you?” 

It seemed like Darius was dreading the question, but he knew it was coming, and answered with a mumbled, “Maybe?” 

Derek gave Darius a smile, reassuring smile, telling him, “You are what you are. Whatever that may be.” He slung his arm around Darius’s shoulders and gave him an affirming squeeze. Darius exhaled sharply and nodded, scooting over towards Derek to lean their heads together. 

“You alright, you know that?” Darius told Derek with a shy grin. Derek chuckled and nodded at that, removing his arm from around Darius’s shoulder to gently pat his cheek. 

“Yeah, I know.” Derek said, jabbing Darius in the side with his elbow. 

As the two shared a laugh, Makaiah and Spencer began to approach them. Makaiah  was trailing sluggishly behind an equally exhausted looking Spencer. The boy rubbed at his eyes sleepily, telling his father,  _ “Dekimonyali, aba _ . Am tired.” 

Darius nodded and held his arms out for his son, who gladly ran into them. He gave a quiet hum as he was lifted up and buried his face in Darius’s neck. When Darius pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Makaiah’s head, Derek and Spencer smiled softly at one another. Spencer moved to stand next to Derek, but kept a safe distance from him. Derek, however, shook his head and gently placed his hand on Spencer’s shoulder. Darius looked at the two strangely for a second, then shot them a polite smile.

“I think the party’s over, fellas.” Darius said, keeping his voice low. Derek and Spencer both hummed their agreement when Makaiah yawned and burrowed further into Darius’s neck. Darius looked down at his son with a soft, fond smile, then directed it towards Derek and Spencer.

“Hey,” he said seriously, “Thanks for comin’. Really. Good seein’ you, both of you.” He balanced Makaiah on his hip, supporting him with one arm as he reached out to shake Derek’s hand. Derek returned the handshake and gave Darius a clap on the shoulder. Spencer, on the other hand, settled on an awkward wave and blushed when Derek and Darius laughed. 

“You, uh-” Darius cleared his throat, looking at Derek, “You got my number?” He was blushing a bit, staring at Derek meekly from behind his lashes. Derek smiled to reassure him, though, and gave him a short nod. 

With a sharp exhale, Darius said, “Cool. Cool, I’ll- I’ll see you around, man.” 

“Yeah,” Derek said, “See you around.” 

* * *

The whole drive home, Derek wore an easy, sated grin. The sight was rare, and both him and Spencer reveled in it. They exited the car and entered their apartment in silence, though something felt tense about it. Derek seemed a bit apprehensive, but it was unclear as to what about.

When they reached the bedroom, they both began to ready themselves for sleep. While Spencer, as always, kept his back to Derek while he changed, Derek unashamedly faced Spencer as he stripped down to his boxers. He waited impatiently for Spencer to turn around, and when he did, Derek didn’t give him a chance to say a word. 

Derek took a few easy strides over to Spencer and immediately grabbed his face to crush their lips together. Spencer let out a muffled noise of surprise, but didn’t necessarily protest. Derek jumped at the given opportunity and wrapped his arms tightly around Spencer’s waist. He pulled Spencer closer and closer to his chest, as if he was afraid of letting him go. Spencer’s arms went hesitantly around Derek’s neck, though his grip was lax and much less fervent. Just as Derek tried to slide his hand down Spencer’s backside, Spencer ceased the kiss and drew back, that same pitiful smile on his face. 

“I’m tired,” he lied, “let's go to bed.” He gave Derek one last peck on the lips before retreating and going towards the bed. The loud sound of Derek’s heavy, frustrated groan stopped Spencer in his tracks. 

“Stop doing that.” Derek said indignantly. Spencer turned slowly to face him, a look of confusion, as well as guilt, spread across his face. 

“Doing what?” He asked, willfully oblivious. His answer only had Derek throwing his hands up in exasperation. 

“That! This! Acting like- Like I’m a little boy that you have to look out for!” Derek yelled frantically. He expected to see Spencer with a look of shock on his face, but all he could see was guilt and shame; he wasn't sure which was worse. With a heavy sigh, he looked away from Spencer down to the ground and added, “I know what I want. And I want you.” 

Spencer remained silent for a few moments as he gaped at Derek, trying to find words to express his emotions. He finally said in a faint whisper, “It's not like that.” 

Derek looked up curiously, his eyebrow cocked as he waited for an explanation. Spencer huffed and pursed his lips before saying, “I don't.. Forgive myself for what I did to you.”

Derek was visibly taken back, “What the hell are you talking about?” 

Spencer shook his head and backed up towards the bed, where he plopped down on the edge. He hung his head and looked down at his hands in silence. He could feel the tension in the air as Derek watched him in bewilderment, frozen in place - but when Spencer buried his face in his hands and sniffled as he choked back tears, Derek’s instincts seemed to kick in. He strode over to the bed and sat down hesitantly beside Spencer, still eyeing him up confusedly. 

“I took advantage of you.” Spencer croaked out suddenly. He refused to meet Derek’s gaze, even as Derek began to stutter in an attempt to argue. Spencer didn’t let him get a word in, continuing, “That night, back at the hotel- I shouldn’t have- I’m sorry.” 

Spencer finally chanced a look at Derek, revealing to Derek his tear-stained face. Derek’s mouth was parted in shock, his speechlessness only egging Spencer on further. “I know it doesn’t make it better, but I’m sorry. I didn’t- I never wanted to be like him.” 

Hurt flooded Derek’s eyes as he asked abruptly, “That’s what you think?” Spencer raised his head up, wringing his hands nervously in his lap. He looked to Derek helplessly and gave a jerky nod just as a quiet sob escaped his lips. 

“You’re nothing like- You could never- would never-” Derek stuttered out. He shook his head in refusal, not even justifying Spencer’s ludicrous reveal with another word. He instead reached out and pulled Spencer into a hug, one that silenced both of them instantly. He stroked his hand through Spencer’s hair to soothe him, while Spencer rubbed Derek’s shoulders to do the same. 

They remained like that for some time, just holding one another. At some point, they had both reclined back on the bed and were now sprawled out on the backs, legs intertwined with their arms wrapped around each other. Derek had his head rested on Spencer’s chest like always, and Spencer was sporadically kissing just behind Derek’s ear. The action had Derek humming happily as he began to shift underneath Spencer’s grip. He maneuvered around a bit until he was at eye level with Spencer, who looked at him with a soft, sad smile. 

Derek sighed and looked down before taking Spencer’s hand in his, squeezing it just a bit too tight as he said, “I uh- I just-” He couldn’t get the simple words out before his voice began to waver as his hands shook.

“Hey.” Spencer said softly, reaching out with his free hand to cup Derek’s face. He gently lifted his chin up and whispered, “Me too.” 

Derek nodded slowly and closed his eyes with a shaky exhale. When he opened them, he told Spencer, “I’m sorry for pressuring you.” 

With a shake of the head, Spencer told him, “You didn’t.” As he leaned in to press a kiss to Derek’s lips, he added in a soft whisper, “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Derek grinned sheepishly and asked in an almost giddy voice, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

 

And maybe they didn’t have all the time, but with each other, it sure felt like it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Every ending is a beginning. We just don't know it at the time.” - Mitch Albom


End file.
